


Ten-Cent Mixture

by vienn_peridot



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Prime
Genre: AU: Syngnath, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Arguing, Assault, Awkward Flirting, Blood and Gore, Bondage, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Circus!AU, Crying, Dancing, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Drabble Collection, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fisting, Flashbacks, Flirting, Fluff, Forced Abortion, Gore, Harassment, Humanformers, Humor, Humour, Innuendo, Lingerie, Maori Legends, Medic Strength, Memory Alteration, Merformers, Mistakes, Mouth Kink, Obsession, One-Sided Attraction, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Original Character Death(s), Other, Polyamory, Prank Wars, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Prompt Fill, Robogore, Sex Work, Shattered Glass, Shockwave being a creep, Slave coding, Sparklings, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tumblr Prompt, Unresolved Romantic Tension, passive-aggressive notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-02-24 02:04:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 60
Words: 18,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2564225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bunch of random drabbles and ficlets from my Tumblr collected here. If a particular 'chapter' has nasty stuff, warnings will be in the chapter summary so you can avoid unpleasantness.</p><p>Contains:<br/>Fluff, Sparklings, Various AUs, Syngnathi Chronicles Outtakes, Plaything of Eris spoilers, Shattered Glass characters, Rung and Prowl being little shits, Passive-aggressive emails.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Baby's First Word [Ovaria!Drift/Incubator!Ratchet]

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet was spawned by a post from the OTP Prompts tumblr.  
> "Imagine Person A and Person B trying to get their newborn child to talk. However, it’s a bust and the kid ends up saying nothing coherently. Later that day, Person B accidentally curses in front of the baby, who repeats the obscenity. Person B keeps trying to apologize, but Person A is too busy laughing."  
> My mind IMMEDIATELY went to Incubator!Ratchet and Ovaria!Drift and their hypothetical spawn.

Drift was in the nest, entertaining the sparkling while Ratchet stretched his legs. Since the hatchling’s armour had begun to strengthen the Incubator’s nesting protocols were dialing down, leaving him grumpy and liable to snarl with little provocation. Drift had been warned to expect this so he was deliberately spending more time than necessary in the nest so Ratchet could escape when he needed to.

Right now the medic was wandering their habsuite in Syngnathi form, enjoying the freedom of being able to move about without worrying about accidentally damaging a fragile, energetic sparkling who **already**  seemed to think it was immortal.

He still couldn’t go too far, though. The nesting protocols hadn’t faded  _that_  much.

The Incubator was half-listening to Drift attempting to coax their sparkling into saying it’s first words as he paced off the restlessness. The young Ovaria seemed to think that teaching the sparkling it’s creator’s designations was the best thing to do, repeating ‘Drift’ and Ratchet’ over and over with his Syngnathi vocaliser turning the designations into some sort of melodious chant.

Ratchet huffed to himself with amused tolerance for his mate’s tenacity. he’d  _told_  Drift that their sparkling wouldn’t be old enough to produce anything other than binary click for another decaorn at the earliest. Not even with how swiftly their offspring was developing. He caught a glimpse of the pair as he passed the door to the room he’d converted into a nest during the last staged of carrying the sparkling’s egg within his frame.

It was a charming sight, the red-and-white Ovaria with those beautiful backswept horns that masquaraded as audial flares was allowing the delicate mostly-white sparkling to inspect his retractile claws while Drift crooned and encouraged the infant Syngnathi to vocalise proper words.

The Incubator was so distracted by the charming little scene that he forgot to pay attention to where he was going. Unused to navigating his habsuite in this larger form, Ratchet slammed his forehelm and sensitive chevron into the top of a doorframe. Cursing explosively, the dizzied medic sat with a loud  _ **thunk**_ , pressing his palms to the site of his injury. Many sensory systems had gone down and the pain messages had his optics offline as a precaution until his systems could compile a full damage report.

"Ratch? What happened?" Drift’s voice was sharp with concern.

"Hit my head on the slagging door frame." Ratchet snarled, "Not used to how  _small_  the place is in this form.”

The Ovaria’s response was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice, piping up from behind Drift.

"Slag!"

“ _What?!_ " For one glorious, terrible instant the Medic was certain his mate was playing a prank on him.

He knew Drift wasn’t though, the harmonics were all wrong.

"Slag!" The cheerful little vocaliser repeated.

"That wasn’t me! I swear!" Drift sounded as if he was choking on something.

"Slag! Slag slag slag slag slag slag  _slag!_ ”

The little voice came closer until Ratchet felt the familiar and much adored sensation of his sparkling’s EM field touch his own, full of excitement and pride. The Incubator forcibly onlined his optics, gazing in disbelief at the little red-accented white blur that was clibing into his lap.

"SLAG!" it squealed, sounding absolutely delighted as it thumped tiny little fists against the glass of Ratchet’s chest.

Oh this would be  _hilarious_  later.

In another  _six million years_.

"Slag?" The sparkling asked, before returning to binary click.

Ratchet sighed and lowered his helm, allowing tiny hands to inspect the damage to his chevron.

"You can online your vocaliser now, you giggling idiot," Ratchet said conversationally, wincing as his offspring poked a little too hard at the centre of the dent to his helm.

Drift did so, the Ovaira’s mirth ringing from the walls while Ratchet heaved a long-suffering sigh.

He was  _never_  going to be allowed to forget this.


	2. Rung The Sex Master [Implied Rung/Sunstreaker]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is entirely the fault of Lights231 and Shokkuwebu on Tumblr discussing Sex Master Rung headcanons.  
> (Coffee and sleep deprivation are also culpable, but to a lesser extent)
> 
> Have a drabble of SexMaster!Rung being a little shithead. Tided up a little from the original tumblr post.

It was a typical night in Swerves, a random assortment of off-duty bots gathered to drink engex and talk slag.

Rung wandered in, surprised by the explosion of salacious laughter that exploded from a heavily-populated table while he waited for Swerve to mix his order.

This sounded interesting.

The psychiatrist picked up his his glass of Swerve’s latest creation and moved towards the crowded table, grabbing a chair as Sunstreaker moved over to make room for him.

"What’s the topic?" Rung asked the frontliner, reaching down to rub behind Bob’s antenna while trying to unravel the moderately slurred story being told by a thoroughly wasted Brainstorm.

"Interfacing adventures." The frontliner said, with a condescending smile implying that Rung would have nothing racy to share.

The orange bot made an interested noise, content to fade into the background and see how this went.

This would be v-e-r-y interesting.

Every second story seemed to be of a mystery bot, an absolutely fantastic frag with such skill that it seemed as if Primus himself delivered the overload which wiped all trace of the bot’s face and name from the storyteller’s memorybanks. Nobody could remember who it was, the most popular hypothesis being that it was the kinkiest of the Original Thirteen, sent by Primus himself to teach bots how to frag in all the best ways.

Rung just smiled to himself, drinking his engex and declining to contribute.

All the stories being told were his, after all. It was good to know that he hadn’t been  _entirely_  forgotten over the vorns.

"Hey, why are you always passing when it’s your turn, Rung?" Skids yelled from the bar after the fiftieth Mystery Bot story. "Do you spend so long listening to people that you forgot how to talk?"

"Not at all," The psychiatrist called back, "I’m simply enjoying the chance to hear people having fun. I don’t get it very often."

"Nah, he just doesn’t have anything to share." Sunstreaker said, elbowing the orange bot. "Rung’s a worse workaholic than Ratchet!"

Ooh that  _tore_  it.

Showing nothing, Rung plotted his revenge. He remembered his night with the golden warrior and his twin _very_ well.

Who the frag did did Sunstreaker  _think_  it was who taught them that trick, hmm?

As several bots wandered past the storytelling table on their way to the door, Rung took his chance.

"I have greatly enjoyed this evening. Best of luck with your quest to identify the Mystery Bot." He said, leaving his empty glass on the table and standing.

As he moved past Sunstreaker’s chair, Rung’s hand snaked out unseen, deftly finding a gap in the golden warrior’s hip armour to tweak a particularly sensitive bundle of wires  _just so_.

Sunstreaker jumped a mile, looking around wildly.

That pinch,  _he remembered that pinch._

The last time he’d felt it has been back in the arenas, the night he and Sides had gotten absolutely wasted and picked up the most  _amazing_  frag they’d had in their entire lives. Ignoring the hoots of amusement from the rest of the bar patrons, Sunstreaker looked around wildly. _The mystery bot was here_. Who was it? The only bots it could have been were almost at the exit. Tailgate, Cyclonus, Drift and Rung all chatting quietly.

Tailgate had been passed out underground for six million years, so it couldn’t have been him. Cyclonus and Drift hadn’t been anywhere near the arenas, which only left… 

Nah, _couldn’t_ be.

Rung had the libido of an asteroid!

Sunstreaker decided that he must have been imagining things.


	3. Break Time [Dratchet]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promptfill for Ceryskitty on Tumblr.  
> "Dratchet. Setting: Drift is Ratchet's medical assistant at his clinic/hospital."  
> Fluff with a determined Drift going up against Medic McStubbornpants.

"Ratchet?"

Drift nudged open the office-come-storeroom door using an elbow as his hands were occupied with not spilling the pair of energon cubes he carried. Predictably, Ratchet had his back to the door, going through a box of plating scraps someone had donated in lieu of actual payment.

"Ratchet, it's break time." Although he felt uncomfortable ordering the Prime's Medic around, Drift tried to sound firm. Ratchet really needed to look after himself properly. If he worked himself into stasis lock, who would look after his patients?

"Just put the cube over there, kid. I'll drink it when I'm done sorting this mess." Not even looking up from what he was doing, Ratchet waved vaguely at a shelf to the left of the door.

Drift frowned. This had happened too many times now. Ratchet would get stuck into something, work right through the day at the hospital or this clinic while forgetting to fuel. If they day had been particularly busy then the Medic would be so tired that by the the time they got home he would barely stay online long enough to knock back a cube of enriched midgrade before staggering to his berth and passing out.

It was a nasty little pattern that Drift was determined to interrupt. Gathering his resolve, the speedster crossed the tiny room in three long steps to nudge the box of scrap plating back, making a clear space on the bench that he immediate filled by the Medic's cube of energon down.

_Hah. Take that._

Ratchet wouldn't be able to get back to sorting the plating without first picking up the energon.

"No. You need to refuel. The box can wait." Drift said firmly, completely the opposite of how he actually felt.

Ratchet silently stared at the energon for several long klicks, long enough for Drift to start worrying that he'd really overstepped the boundaries of their relationship. Finally he picked it up and turned to the speedster, grinning and raising the cube it in a toast to Drift.

"You're learning, kid. You're learning."

 


	4. Teacher Teacher [Krok/Rung]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill for Watchdog-N on Tumblr.  
> "RungxKrok and um... Teacher au?"  
> Have some one-sided moping.

Krock was on autopilot as he engaged in the obligatory post-training backslapping with the rest of his teammates, the majority of his attention was on scanning the side of the field for a certain small orange figure.

_Oh **please**  tell me he came to watch today._

They’d had a really good training session and Krok hadn’t missed a single shot at the goal. He very rarely had an opportunity to talk with Professor Rung outside of the classroom and hardly ever when they were in it, as Classics wasn’t Krok’s best subject (He preferred  _actual_  history to mythology) and others ended up monopolising the new teacher’s time. He  _was_  trying harder, but it didn’t make much difference.

At least Rung seemed to enjoy watching the school’s mecha-soccer team during the game last weekend. He’d even congratulated Krok on his performance during the game and said he’d be interested in watching them practice. Maybe Krok would get a chance to impress him that way?

_Can’t see him. He didn’t come._

Krock vented a sigh that could have been disappointment or a reaction to one of Brawl’s bad jokes and grabbed his sports bag, heading towards the locker rooms. They had just handed in a big assignment, Rung was probably stuck in his office, busy with marking.

_Maybe next time._


	5. Scientific Squabbles [Wheeljack/Perceptor]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for I-Am-Menial on Tumblr.  
> "Perceptor and Wheeljack, sent through time in Leonardo Da Vinci period."  
> Poor Wheeljack. Someone get him some painkillers.

"It’ll work, I tell you!"

"No it won’t! Your calculations are incorrect. Furthermore, the materials you propose lack the tensile strength and electrical conductivity required for the success of this project!"

Wheeljack listened to Perceptor and the human argue, wishing it was feasible to shut off his auditory receptors. His mate had done nothing but argue with the mouthy little human ever since they had crashed here and it was driving him steadily up the wall.

The sooner they fixed the antimatter drives the better. They could reverse course through the temporal rift created by their explosion and 

"NOW LISTEN HERE YOU OVERGROWN WATERWHEEL! JUST BECAUSE-"

Wheeljack carefully put the part he was repairing to the side of his working area before repeatedly hitting his head against the bench.


	6. Indecision [Sunstreaker/Sideswipe]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt FIll for I-Am-Menial on Tumblr.  
> "Sunstreaker and sideswipe from G1 are catapulted in Bayverse."  
> Sunstreaker is indecisive. Sideswipe gets annoyed.

"Sunny?"

Sideswipe pointed at a vehicle. The yellow twin didn’t even glance at it.

"No."

After ten minutes (local time calculation), Sideswipe tried again. This time with an elbow to the thoracic plating.

"Sun? What ab-"

"NO."

That refusal was underlined by a threatening rev of Sunstreaker’s engine. Sideswipe subsided, scuffing the asphalt outside the Lamborghini showroom with one pede.

Ten more minutes and Sideswipe was flat-out whining. This trip was taking  _forever!_

"Sunstreaker come oooooon, you’ve been here forever. Just pick an altmode so we can go already!"

"Ugh,  _fine_.” Suntreaker stalked over to the first vehicle they’d seen, the one Sideswipe had scanned. “I guess this will do.”

He’d never admit it, but his twin did have a good eye for a pretty alien altmode.


	7. TKO [Prowl/Constructicons]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill for TheBuggu on Tumblr.  
> "Constructicons/Prowl. Prowl being punched in the boob and the Constructicons defending him."  
> I headcanon that Praxian's majestic chests contain the doodackys that process all the data received from their doorwings (as well as their spark housing) so even though they do have chest armour you DON'T PUNCH PRAXIANS IN THE CHEST. EVER.  
> Someone should have told this bloke. . .

None of them had been expecting it, least of all Prowl.

Punching someone of Praxian origin in the upper chest had been explain to humans as roughly the cultural equivalent of punching someone below the belt and eye-gouging.

Deeply offensive and agonizingly painful all in one.

So when one of the NAILs paused in his tirade and took a swing at Prowl, none of them were  _seriously_ expecting he was intending to land that punch.

They were wrong.

Prowl gasped and crumpled forwards, going to his knees as the impact of the blow sent shockwaves throughout the delicate circuitry that received the sensory feed from his doorwings into useful input for his processor. His spark yowled across the Gestalt link, insult communicated perfectly to five others.

Everyone who witnessed the scene felt their sparks freeze as five purple-and-green helms turned slowly to fix the mech who’d assaulted Prowl with basilisk stares.

Hook and Scavenger were at his sides in an instant, one scanning for damage and the other taking a defensive stance beside the downed Praxian.

The NAIL shuttered his optics in confusion, nonplussed by Prowl’s reaction and thoroughly distracted by Scavenger bristling at him.

Until four voices came from behind the NAIL, speaking five words with the kind of deadly clarity that is only ever heard just as someone faces a messy offlining.

“ _You…_

… just made a

HUGE

mistake”


	8. Bound and Screaming [Rung/Whirl]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill for Anon on Tumblr.  
> "Whirl/Rung, Sex Worker AU"
> 
> No surprises about where my mind went with this one. . .

Rung looked down his olfactory ridge at where his client lay on the floor. The rotor was bound and writhing, a vocal inhibitor attached to the collar around his neck. He was watching carefully, counting the klicks as they passed and listening for the distinct pattern of claw-clacks that would come when the patron had had enough.

When they didn’t come, Rung grasped the blocky head in both his small servos and directed a sharp smile into the singular red optic of the rotor’s face.

"Well, you are doing  _much_  better than I expected of you. I think you’ve earned a little reward.”

The optic brightened, but this patron knew by now not to presume upon Rung’s generosity. Orange fingers deactivated the vocal inhibitor.

"Overload for me."

The bound mech froze, electrical discharge snapping streamers of light around his frame as he howled with bliss.

Rung waited for the last flickers of overload to fade from the rotor’s frame before re-engaging the inhibitor.

In all their sessions, this mech had never once delivered the signal that would end a session early.

Rung idly wondered what it would take.


	9. Help Me [Rung/Trepan]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill for Anon on Tumblr  
> "Trepan and Rung, Dystopian AU"
> 
> I love dysptopias so much it's unhealthy.

"Trepan, I  _need_  you to do this.”

He was begging for mnemosurgery. To have his own mind invaded an altered in order to survive. Rung couldn’t believe that it had come to this point so quickly.

The universe had gone insane and he was too rational to survive within it.

Trepan shook his head, refusing him again.

"It will render you useless for far too long, Rung. I can’t."

"I can’t function usefully as it is." Rung glared up at the tall Mnemosurgeon. "When I offline are you sure you’ll be able to survive successfully on your own?"

Trepan refused to meet his optics, the silence answering Rung’s question far better than words.

"We both know that you will not." Rung employed as much ruthlessness as this blasted glitch would allow him. "Without my ability to discern the critical weaknesses in our foes, you will not last a decaorn. If you do not help me overcome the inability to harm them  _neither_  of us will see the end of the vorn.”

Trepan was still avoiding his optics. Rung reached both small orange hands up to grasp one pale grey wrist, running his fingers over the glyphs inscribed on it.

"We have to do our best to survive. To find other survivors. This is our only hope of doing it."

Trepan’s main optics sought his.

Success.

"So be it."

Rung felt gentle pricks on his helm, all the pain the skilled menemosurgeron would allow him to feel.

“ _Thank you_ " he whispered, feeling Trepan go to work within him.

With luck, this would save them both.


	10. Cyclonus and the Moon [Cyclonus/Tailgate]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill for Anon on Tumblr  
> 'TailgatexCyclonus Medieval or Fairytale AU?'
> 
> Anon didn't specify their mythology, so I threw Cyclogate at 'Rona and the Moon', which is one of my favourite Maori legends.

Cyclonus picked his way across the darkened night side of the planet, systems running as quietly as he could possibly make them. If everything went well, he would be able to get back to the base without anyone spotting him and trying to put a blaster bolt through his spark chamber.

The going here was particularly tough, the ground rocky and uneven. The soil and rock composition of this organic backwater rendered his sensors useless and he was reduced to relying on his optics when it came to finding places to put his pedes.

This planet had one satellite, a large pale moon that reflected light back from the star at the centre of the system. It was about half-full, giving just enough light to be useful to Cyclonus but not enough to place him in danger. His dark purple paint helped him blend into the strange nighttime landscape.

Just when he'd become used to relying solely on visual input and Cyclonus' confidence was increasing, the faint moonlight he was replying on went out.

Cyclonus had been midstep and his pede came down on a large, loose rock which slipped out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground. Shouts from the enemy sentries meant ha had been spotted.

Pushing himself to his pedes, Cyclonus ran as best he could across the rocky terrain, cursing the moon and it's bad timing as he felt an explosive round pierce his hip.

The world spun away from Cyclonus in a spiral of silver light.

He came to lying on his back on a smooth, hard surface. Pushing himself to a sitting position, he saw a silvery white minibot with an oversized blue visor gazing at him reproachfully.

"There was no need to talk about me like that." The minibot said. "I was only trying to help you. The guards were looking your way so I stopped shining on you so they wouldn't see you."

"You what? Where am I?" Cyclonus growled.

"I said I stopped shining my light on you so the guards wouldn't see you." The minibot repeated as if he was talking to someone who was extremely slow of processor. "And you are in my home."

"Are you saying that you're the embodiment of this planet's  _moon?!_ " Cyclonus demanded incredulously.

"Yes, I am indeed." The minibot beamed. "Pleased to meet you!"


	11. "Master" [Rung/Whirl]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promt Fill for Anon on Tumblr  
> "WhirlxRung Rung's-functionalist-era-slave-coding-got-reactivated-after-he-got-shot-in-the-head-and-now-it-thinks-Whirl-is-his-master AU"
> 
> Yes Whirl is a glitch but there are some things even HE draws the line at.  
> And yes, he did bust down the door to get out of there.

"Whirl? May I speak with you for a moment please?"

The familiar voice of the little psychiatrist had come from behind him. Whirl turned and looked down to see Rung looking remarkably fit and healthy, fidgeting the same way an overcharged Swerve did when you said Blurr was behind him

"Sure thing, Specs. Fire away!" Whirl was actually interested in what the tiny orange bot had to say. It wasn't every day a noncombatant had their head blown off, after all.

"Ah. In private, if you don't mind?" Rung almost  _stuttered_.

Whirl fought the urge to say 'Awww' and pat him on the helm with a claw. All the therapy must be making him soft.

"Ok lead on. Don't take forever though, Brainstorm has a new gun for me to test out."

The rotor followed the unusually twitchy little mech into an empty room that had once housed the remains of a sparkeater victim. Rung closed the door behind them before turning to face Whirl with determination.

"Right. Whirl. What do you know of Slave Coding?" The psychiatrist cut right to the chase and Whirl desperately wished he had a face so he could raise an optic ridge at the mech. He settled for cocking his helm to the side and squinting his optic.

"Disgusting stuff that should never have been invented." Well, that basically covered everything Rung needed to know, right? Besides, it WAS the truth. "Why do you want to know?"

Rung stopped venting for a solid breem. If he had been an organic, Whirl would have started wagering on whether or not he was going to offline.

"B-because I have it." Rung said softly, raising his bespectacled face to look Whirl directly in the optic. "And when Ratchet repaired me it fixated on you."

"Wait, YOU have slave coding?"

"Yes."

"And it's decided I'M your new master?"

". . . Yes."

"So I could ask you do anything I wanted and you would have to obey without question?"

"In essence, yes."

"Well SLAG that!"

The look on Rung's face was priceless. Whirl took some image captures, willing to trade a leg for enough depth perception to create a proper binocular picture.

"Not happening. Rung, as your 'master'" Whirl sketched some air quotes with his claws around the word, "I'm ordering you to forever and always act as if you had the same complete and total free will of a mech who doesn't have Slave Coding. To only ever follow that order. Got it?"

"I. . . Whirl,  _thank you_ " Rung was shaking and looked like he was about to hug Whirl.

"Don't get mushy on me. You're my friend and I don't want you acting as anyone's slave. We done here?"

Rung nodded.

"Good. Time to blow something up."

Whirl brushed past the smaller mech and slammed on out into the corridor without bothering to unlock the door first. The subject of slave coding always made Whirl feel the need for more violence than usual.

And Rung didn't need to know that he;d just received the exact same order Whirl had done, from the only mech he'd ever called 'Master'.


	12. Wingshield [Prowl/Constructicons]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill for Spaztastic-Bookworm on Tumblr  
> "Prowler and his Constructicons: Everyone sees them defending him. What if something happens to one of them, hurt feelings, injured, and here comes big bad Gesalt leader to save the day! wreck the perpetrator and cuddle the injured!"
> 
> I didn't quite manage to fill it properly but I can come back to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Gestalt Bond~  
> ::Comm links::

The flash of pain and outrage along the gestalt bond brought Prowl's head up from the datapad like a turbofox scenting a wounded glitchmouse.

~ **Who? What?** ~ He asked before his optics had even shifted focus.

~ **Nothing! We're fine!** ~ Came back in a five-part chorus that wasn't  _quite_  in harmony.

At least one of them was lying. Stubborn glitches.

The medic on duty didn't even give Prowl a chance to ignore a comm ping, probably having taken a good look at the file Ratchet left and directly accessing the base intercom feed to Prowl's office

:: _Prowl, please report to medbay. The Constructicons need some doorwings_ ::

Prowl was standing and halfway to the door before the first three glyphs had been sounded.

~ **Coming anyway** ~

:: _I'm on my way_ ::

 


	13. "Master" 2 [Rung/Whirl]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for Anon on Tumblr.  
> "That slave coding fic. . . I'd love to see it from Rung's point of view/inner thoughts"  
> This runs parallel to the chapter "Master". I hope it came out alright :/

Rung's achievement of a full recovery after having his head blown apart and rebuilt was not exactly the joyous occasion every other mech on the Lost Light crew treated it as. In truth, he had been postponing the reintegration of brain module and frame for as long as he possibly could, as  _somehow_  someone had reactivated his long-dormant Slave Coding while he was laid out on the slab of a bedberth.

Rung was horrified. He had no idea how it had happened, and due to the very nature of the coding he was unable to speak to any of the medics on board about it.

There was nothing to be done.

He had resigned himself to a tense existence of carefully avoiding situations which could trigger it and force him to imprint on a crewmember, the Slave Coding assigning them to be his new Master. It would be extremely difficult but  _could_  be done. When he returned to Cybertron Rung would be able to send the code into dormancy again with a little help from some friends from the Functionalist Era who had also survived the war.

The only problem would be making it that far without accidentally imprinting on a Master.

So when he imprinted on  _Whirl_ , Rung decided that Primus, Uniron or both had it in for him.

It was surprisingly easy to get the rotor-frame aside for a private moment in which to confess about the Slave Coding and inform Whirl that -for better or worse, and much likely the latter- Whirl was now his Master, with everything that entailed.

Rung's spark dropped down past his pedes and out into the cold of space when Whirl informed him that he was on his way to test a new gun for Brainstorm.

_Oh Primus please no._

Whirl could order him to stand in front of the target -or to BE the target- and Rung would be forced to obey.

Well, that would be a neat way out of this situation after all.

Whirl's reaction -to explode with ancient rage and hand Rung's free will back to him- was completely unexpected. He was too stunned to process all the implications, stunned processors straining under the burden of applying the new order and working it into his action trees. His enraged Master slammed out of the room, taking the door clean off it's moorings.

Rung sank to his knees on the floor, spark singing as  _freedom_  flowed through his lines.


	14. 'Defend' [Rung/Whirl]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill for Anon on Tumblr  
> ""Defend" Rung and Whirl (if it isn't asking too much, I'd like to see each of them take a turn as the protector)"
> 
> 195 words referencing Sex Master Rung. THIS IS COMPLTETELY SFW.

Nobody was surprised when Whirl started a barfight that got them kicked out of the only place on this remote planet that catered to mechaniod lifeforms.

What surprised everyone was that he'd started the fight in an attempt to 'defend Rung's honour', as Sunstreaker put it.

Something about Rung resembling the debauched lust deity of some offworld religious sect or other. The initial victim of Whirl's rampage had drunkenly propositioned the little orange psychiatrist in an extremely disrespectful manner, Whirl had overheard and the rest was CCTV footage and a police report.

Nobody was surprised when Rung defended the rotor's actions to Rodimus and Ultra Magnus, winning a reduced punishment and stern warning for Whirl about standards of conduct expected of the crew.

What seriously  _disturbed_  everyone was the gales of laughter heard coming from behind Rung's office later that day. He was by himself, of course, but it sounded as if someone had told the little orange mech the funniest joke in existence.

Nobody was brave enough to ask what it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WFT is it with this pairing?!? My askbox is full of it o.O


	15. 'Death' [Rung/Nameless Mech]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill for Anonymous on Tumblr"  
> "For the drabble prompts: "Death" with Rung comforting a dying person, maybe at a relinquishment clinic?"
> 
> 270 words. I HOPE THIS HURTS.

This was mandatory work, but that didn't mean Rung took it any less seriously than the patients he knew for sure he'd be seeing again.

These mecha already knew they were doomed. Rubbing their faceplates in it required open cruelty of a kind that no sentient, sapient being should be subjected to.

He had run out of things to say to his current client that weren't meaningless platitudes. The mech was here at the Relinquishment Clinic because they were so deeply in debt that the only option left to them was to hire their frame out and hope that enough rich body tourists paid to borrow it that eventually his brain module and spark could be brought back out of stasis and re-housed in it.

For someone whose altmode was an extremely common mid-range grounder, it was extremely unlikely. In all probability this mech's spark would destabilize and extinguish in storage long before his debts were paid off.

Instead they sat in silence, Rung holding the other mech's hands in his smaller ones and wrapping him in his EM Field.

The timer buzzed, announcing the end of their session.

His client's final session.

The condemned mech stood and fished around in subspace, pulling out a small package which he handed to Rung.

"Here, take these. I won't need them."

Those were the last words that particular mech ever spoke with his own frame, probably the last words his spark and brain module ever produced with any frame. Rung watched the grounder leave, turning the package over in his hands.

It was a box of flavoured energon sticks, still mostly full.


	16. "Fight" [Rung VS Froid]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompe fill for Anon on Tumblr.  
> ""Fight" Rung vs. Froid the more passive aggressive the better."
> 
> I took a leaf out of my most passive-aggressive flatmate's book and employed the 'accidentally' sending a text to the wrong person tactic. I HEART ACADEMIC SNARKING.

Excerpt of message from Froid to ~~~. CCed to: ~~~,  ~~~ and Rung.

> _". . . Did you read the most recent paper published by that mech? It should be retracted from the journal and used as an example for undergrads. An example of what NOT do to! Improperly researched, faulty reasoning, and that footnote layout is so difficult to read it should be outlawed for the good of Cybertron. . . "_

 

Message from Rung to Foid

> _My Esteemed Colleague._
> 
> _I do believe you CC-ed me in on that last message purely by accident. I bear you no ill-will over the accident and instead respectfully request that you make your criticisms of my recent article through the proper channels._
> 
> _After all, that is what the Peer Review process is there for._
> 
> _Signed: Rung of the Pious Pools_

 

Message from Froid to Rung:

> _My **Most**  Esteemed Collegue._
> 
> _Please forgive my asking, but I have no idea as to which message you are referring. Are you entirely certain that you have not sent your own message to me by accident?_
> 
> _Also, I am well aware of the Peer Review process and what it entails. I have simply been **far**  too busy lately to sit down and read the latest journal issues._
> 
> _Best of luck with your article, whatever it was about._
> 
> _Signed: Froid_

 

Message from Rung to Froid:

> _My Esteemed Colleague,_
> 
> _I respectfully suggest that you check your message history and/or inspect your cranial casing under Ultraviolet Light, just in case your memory lapse has an explanation that isn't related to simple age and processor degradation._
> 
> _Signed: Rung of the Pious Pools_

 

Message from Froid to Rung:

> _My Most Esteemed Colleague_
> 
> _Your baseless accusations never cease to amuse me._
> 
> _I shall hold the UV lamp if you wish to do the same._
> 
> _Signed: Froid_


	17. "Defend" [Rung/Ultra Magnus]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill for theshriekingsisterhood on Tumblr.  
> "Rung talking someone out of big trouble. . . And Rung slides in between the aggressor and his crewmate, this tiny fragile noncombatant just being diplomatic and polite (and ok maybe a tiny bit manipulative) and completely defuses the situation."
> 
> My brain has fallen over and died so this is crap. I'm sorry.

"Oh no.  _Not_  you lot again. Get out."

The Lost Light was back on Hedonia, and somehow they'd ended up back in the same bar Ultra Magnus had passed out in last time. The bar staff had remembered them and alerted the owner, who had proceeded to come in on his day off expressly in order to kick them out of his establishment.

Ultra Magnus, already feeling the effects of his cocktail, had proceeded to start an argument about how the bar owner couldn't  _legally_  throw them out, as he hadn't filed any sort of trespass order against them over their previous visit, they  _had_  paid for all of the damages incurred by dragging his unconscious frame out of there (including generous tips for the staff working that evening) and they hadn't done anything a)disruptive or b)illegal so far this evening, so the bar owner didn't have a leg to stand on and should just let them stay.

When voices were raised and the owner threatened to call the local law enforcement, Rung stepped in.

The small orange bot stepped in between the two arguing beings, stopping Ultra Magnus mid-spate with a hand to the thigh (about as high as he could reach) and proceeded to defuse the entire situation in under a breem. In fact, the owner of the bar ended up spending the rest of the night at their table. Either to keep an eye on them or discuss potential cocktail recipes, nobody was quite sure which it was.

Rung never revealed how he did it, just smiling and waving the curious asker off with 'trade secrets' or something like that.


	18. Lips [Shockwave/Blurr]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Propmpt Fill for Anonymous on Tumblr.  
> "Shockwave/Blurr Cheiloproclitic, Basorexia, Druxy for the fic meme?"
> 
> This was almost too easy so I decided to give it a little twist.

There were many things which Shockwave found attractive about the slim little Agent, but if he had to pick one thing for the Autobot to retain besides his spark it would be his mouthplates.

Admittedly, ever since being subjected to Empurata Shockwave had developed something of an obsession with the lips of other mechs. Something about not having them anymore made him notice the great variety of shapes and sizes somehow possible in two small pieces of flesh.

He particularly like to watch Blurr’s mouthplates when the Agent stood at attention before his Longarm disguise. The way he pressed them firmly together when determined, the little quirk up at the corner when Shockwave make some subtle joke. Even at the rate the blue mech prattled on his speech was always precise and his words clearly formed. The exacting movements of Blurr’s lips as she spoke without stumbling made the Decepticon burn anew with rage at those who had stolen his ability to find out what it would be like to shut him up by kissing the Agent into a moaning mess.

The first time he caught Blurr biting his bottom lip in concentration Shockwave had struggled viciously against the urge to pin the lithe little Autobot to the floor and ride his face until Blurr was half-drowned by his valve lubricants.

He restrained himself and watched. Wearing the guise of Longarm Prime, so proper and polite until the day the Decepticons rose again and he could claim Blurr as his due reward for his faithful service to Lord Megatron.

On that day, he would finally experience Blurr’s lips in all the ways he was able.


	19. Mamihlapinatapei [Drift/Perceptor]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for FailSnail of Tumblr.  
> "Driftceptor-Mamihlapinatapei - The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move."  
> 240 words I'm not 100% certain fill the prompt *shrug* I tried?

It was frankly ridiculous.

The entire crew of the Lost Light had were long past the point of amused with this particular pari’s behaviour and were forging ever deeper into the territory of “completely fragging fed up” with it.

It wasn’t with the two individual mechs themselves, but with how they acted whenever they were in the same place.

Room, corridor –slag, even in the washracks and training rooms!- it didn’t matter. Primus forbid anyone forgot to distract one of the pair and keep them away from Swerve’s when the other had arrived there first.

The last time that had happened even easy-going Tailgate had laid into the culprit for ruining everyone’s evening.

Perceptor and Drift weren’t fighting.

Oh no.

It was _much_ worse than that.

The Swordsmech and the Scientist clearly had the universe’s biggest crushes on each other.

Tt was also quite clear that they were either totally oblivious or just too chicken-shit to sit down and talk about it.

So it continued.

Longing gazes when the other wasn’t looking. Unfailing politeness whenever they absolutely _had_ to interact. Longing sighs. The overcharged mutual staring contests across Swerve’s bar were the _worst_. Drift and Perceptor would do nothing but get thoroughly drunk, make mooncalf optics at eachother across the room and eventually stagger back to their separate habsuites at the end of the night.

They were driving their crewmates absolutely around the twist.

Something would have to be done.


	20. Reassurance [Mer!Rodimus/Human!Prowl]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill for Anonymous on Tumblr.  
> "Everything’s going to be fine." Drift/Ratchet or Mer!Roddy/Anyone

Prowl wished he was anywhere but where he was.

Right now he was tt the Wildlife Rehabilitation Center, standing before one of the raised tanks and attempting to reason with one of it’s most infamous residents.

Hot Rod was glaring at him, eye-to-eye and every fin flared in what he had learned was a fine display of aggression. Prowl could see why Mer like Hot Rod fetched such high prices on the black market.

He could also see why the black market breeders hadn’t been sad to see hot Rod go when their particular operation was busted.

"Tell me  _exactly_ what happened.” Hot Rod growled, flexing his fins and claws aggressively.

“And also  _why_  you seem to think it’s not worth worrying about. He’s  _hurt_. He’s  _not here_. If he’s hurt enough to _not be here_ then it’s pretty  _fucking_ bad, Officer. I’m not some wild-caught Mer. I know more about your  _Human_ things than you give me credit for.”

Prowl was honestly caught off-guard by Hot Rod’s perfect enunciation, as well as his use of slang and the word ‘Human’ instead of the more common euphemisms that the wild Mers used for humankind.

His attempts at diplomacy were obviously getting him nowhere. It was time for Prowl to give Hot Rod exactly what he was asking for so he could get the hell out of here.

"Earlier today Ratchet was involved in an accident at the wharfside fish market." Prowl recited the facts of the case in a clear, unemotional tone. "The exact circumstances behind the accident remain unclear, due to conflicting eyewitness reports and the fact that the investigation is ongoing. However what is clear is that Ratchet somehow became pinned when a stack of crates fell and landed on him. According to the Emergency Department he received a concussion, severe bruising and possible cracked ribs. Due to a preexisting medical condition the hospital is holding him for observation and currently wish to be rid of him in three days’ time."

Hot Rod’s fins fattened and flared while his face took on a very human expression of worry.

"So, everything’s going to be fine?" Hot Rod asked, sounding surprisingly vulnerable.

Prowl sighed.

"Yes Hot Rod. At the moment it looks like everything is going to be fine."


	21. Shy [Rung/Wing]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill for The-Sparkbeat of Tumblr.  
> "Are you flirting with me?" with WingXRung or WingXDrift maybe?

Rung watched the jet carefully, trying to parse possible reasons for the turn their conversation had taken.

They were sitting in one of the observation decks, Rung ostensibly helping Wing catch up on the few million years of Cybertronian history he had missed being buried with New Crystal City. Wing was supposedly helping Rung pop model pieces our of the sprue and sand the little nubs off to prepare them for primer.

Talk of history had lead to discussing the Functionalist Council and from there to altmodes.

More specifically,  _Rung’s_ altmode.

Given Wing’s personality and the smile he occasionally flashed at Rung as they talked, snipped and sanded it wasn’t likely that his questions were maliciously intended.

His profession made it hard for Rung to believe that it was simple curiosity. There was always an ulterior motive when someone asked personal question, even if the question-asker wasn’t aware of them.

The next question set Rung’s universe on it’s side.

"May I see your altmode?" Wing asked, almost shy. 

Wide golden optics, relaxed EMF and sleek flightframe armour held none of the tells Rung knew to look for.

It seemed that Wing was absolutely genuine.

Except there was a little something flickering in his field, a twinkle in his optics that Rung finally placed.

No, he _couldn’t_ be!

Rung put his tiny piece of model ship down and looked the Knight in the optics.

"Wing, are you flirting with me?" Rung asked.

The little ripple of Wing’s EMF and his ducked helm said it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Nerdlord and the Smiling Knight... oh shit I think I ship it.


	22. Fly, Nerd [Rung/Whirl]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill for Anonymous on Tumblr:  
> Would it be ok to request Whirl/Rung in an AU where they are not doctor/patient (any AU, so long as there is no professional relationship going on)? If so "You want me to do what?”
> 
> Circus!AU because I miss my circo buddies.

"I’m not sure I understand." Rung gave the taller mech a dubious look. "You want me to do  _what?!_ ”

"What’s not to understand about it? You stand on my claws, I toss you, you tuck and roll then I transform and catch you in my cockpit." Whirl sketched shapes in the air with said claws, demonstrating  _yet again_  what he meant.

Rung removed his glasses and rubbed tiredly at his nasal ridge before replacing them to glare up at Whirl. They’d been fighting about this for half an hour now. The very nature of Whirl’s proposed new addition to their routine meant they couldn’t practice with the usual safety net in addition to the thick crashpads.

"I may be a flyer but I’m not a flight _frame,_  Whirl. Those pads are still going to hurt if you miss this.”

One big golden optic gave a perfect facsimile of tremble-lipped begging.

Rung sighed.

"Alright. We’ll run this though with the dummy before I risk my legs on this." The small orange bot held up a cautionary finger before Whirl could get too carried away. "You’ve got the more important role here. Miss more than one time in fifty and I’m not going  _near_ this trick.”

"Yeahokgotitnerd" Whirl shot off at full speed, looking for their vaguely Rung-shaped training dummy.

This trick was going to be  _excellent!_


	23. "Wanna Dance?" [Jazz/Drift]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for I-Am-Menial of Tumblr  
> Jazz/Drift #37: Wanna Dance?
> 
> 344 words in an IDW AU where I basically ignore RiD, taking place after Drift leaves the Lost Light

Drift tapped his fingers idly in time to the heavy bassline thumping through the bar. It was a catchy song, he could give it that. If Wing or Ratchet were here he’d probably drag either or both of them out of the floor to dance.

As it was, he was alone and didn’t feel like making a spectacle of himself. It would be a better idea to finish his drink and head back to his ship to catch an early night instead of moping, which was what he’d do if he stayed here.

A friendly EM Field tingled against his own as a slender silver-plated mech with a visor hiding his optics bounced up onto the barstool beside Drift.

“’Sup mech?” the stranger asked, flashing a bright smile.

“Nothing much.” Drift said, giving the stranger an automatic once-over. “I was about to leave. I’m not in a very social mood tonight.”

The stranger leaned back against the bar and pouted. His pedes were hanging a good meter and a half above the ground, one ankle resting on the knee of the opposite leg in an impressive display of flexibility and tapping away at thin air in time with the heavy beat. His Field was full of an open, uncomplicated friendliness that Drift hadn’t encountered since New Crystal City.

“That’s a shame.” The stranger sounded genuinely regretful. “Ya look like a mech who knows how to move an’ I was hoping ya might wanna dance. No worries though, I won’t keep ya if you’re not feelin’ it.”

The silver mech jumped neatly off his stool, giving Drift a smile and wave before turning to leave. Before he could stop himself, Drift had stepped forward and put a hand on the stranger’s upper arm, stopping him. The silver mech’s EM Field rippled with surprise and something else at the unexpected contact.

“I wouldn’t mind a dance or two, if the offer still stands.” Drift said.

The stranger beamed, visor lighting up as he pulled Drift out onto the dance floor.

“It does. I’m all yours, mech.”


	24. “You heard me. Take. It. Off” [Jazz/Prowl]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for Anonymous on Tumblr.  
> 35 DAT JAZZ/PROWL (You heard me. Take. It. Off)  
> 291 words of pranking set in G1

“It’s a very good look for you.” Prowl observed.

“Ah don’t care HOW good it looks.” Jazz growled, glaring at the Praxian. “Get it _off_ meh.”

The tiniest hint of a smirk lifted the corner of Prowl’s lipplates as he watched Jazz’s plating twitch in frustration. The smaller mech’s EM Field was a roiling mass of suppressed violence and sharp-edged irritation that was morphing into full-blown rage.

“I don’t think that I will.” Prowl knew he was playing with fire as the humans put it, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Not after the last time Jazz tattled on him to Ratchet.

“Prowler, Ah swear if yah don’t help me with this yah _won’t_ like the consequences.” The saboteur snarled, an angry engine underscoring how close he was to finally losing his temper.

“No.” Prowl didn’t hide the schadenfreude this situation was bringing him. “As I said before, you look rather fetching this way. Whoever did this has excellent taste.”

Jazz muttered something Prowl couldn’t quite make out.

“Perhaps you should ask Optimus?” The Praxian asked, doorwings twitching merrily. “I’m sure he would be willing to oblige you.”

“Ahm _not_ walking through the Ark like this, yah sadistic glitch!” Jazz snapped, before taking a deep vent and enunciating every word with icy clarity. “You heard me. Take. It. OFF.”

By now his visor was incandescent with rage. Prowl took some high-resolution image captures, it was really too perfect a sight to let it go unrecorded.

“And _you_ heard _me_. No.”

Prowl got less than a microsecond of warning to duck before Jazz made a standing leap for his throat, claws extended and screaming bloody murder at the top of his vocaliser.

The twins _definitely_ owed him for this.


	25. "It’s not what it looks like…" [Rodimus/Prowl]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promptfill for Anonymous on Tumblr.  
> "It’s not what it looks like…" ASCW Prowl/Roddy  
> 516 words of Mer!Rodimus and human!Prowl from my 'A Ship Called Wander' merformer AU.

“So you can’t swim.” Hot Rod said, leaning against the side of the pool and cocking his head up at the police officer.

“I _said_ I can tread water and do a perfectly serviceable backstroke.” Prowl corrected, giving the mer a chilly glare. “That _is_ swimming.”

“Oh please, that’s not proper swimming and you know it.” Hot Rod rolled his eyes and waved a webbed hand dismissively before raising his voice. “Back me up on this, Jazz?”

“He’s right and ya know it, Prowl.” Jazz called from the other room. “So stop arguing about it ya stubborn git.”

The black-and-white cetacean-type mer wasn’t allowed out of the floor-inset tanks and their solid walls until he could reliably locate glass panes with his sonar when his full attention wasn’t on it. His last head-on with the side of a freestanding tank had given him concussion and meant the Wildlife Rehabilitation Centre staff had to drain the entire thing for the pane to be replaced.

Prowl folded his arms defensively and growled something under his breath that Hot Rod flatly refused to translate for Jazz.

Then Hot Rod got an idea.

The mer eyed the distance between Prowl and the edge of the tank, then casually glanced behind himself to judge how much free space he had. Shifting his gaze back to Prowl, he grinned at the unsuspecting law-enforcer. Prowl was far too close to the edge of the pool for his own safety, probably thinking that because of his background and outgoing nature Roddy was less dangerous than the wild-born mers.

He was about to be proven very, very wrong.

Prowl raised a single dark eyebrow as Hot Rod sank gracefully back into the pool before suddenly lunging up out of the water with powerful strokes of his tail. The mer grabbed Prowl around the waist and yanked him down into the pool, salty water rushing into the human’s mouth when he shouted with surprise.

The sight of flailing human limbs passing one of the underwater observation windows followed moments later by Jazz’s earsplitting tirade of mer obscenities brought Ratchet running. He skidded to a stop just outside the area of wet floor Hot Rod had created, gawking at the sight of a furious and soaking-wet Prowl doing his best to murder a laughing Roddy with his bare hands. The mer waved cheerfully at Ratchet, effortlessly keeping both himself and Prowl afloat.

“What the hell is going on here?!” Ratchet bellowed, finally getting Prowl’s attention.

With his skin it was hard to tell if Prowl was blushing, but he definitely looked embarrassed as he looked from Ratchet to his hands clamped on Roddy’s neck and back again before quickly letting go. It wasn’t until he lost his balance and fell backwards that Prowl realised his legs were clamped firmly around Hot Rod’s body, pinning the mer’s pelvic fins flat.

“It’s not what it looks like…” Prowl said awkwardly, wondering if Roddy would politely let him drown to escape the embarrassing situation.

“Just teaching Prowl how to swim.” Roddy added cheerfully.

Ratchet buried his face in his hands.


	26. "I'm Pregnant" [SG!Wing/Deadlock]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill for Winged-Madness on Tumblr.  
> "alternatively because I'm terrible Deadlock/SG-Wing #27 (I'm pregnant)"
> 
> I'm terrible too. 641 words.   
> WARNING: ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP. VIOLENCE. GORE. PHYSICAL ASSAULT. FORCED ABORTION.

“Deadlock?”

“Mmmph.”

“Deadlock?”

Wing was running a razor-sharp claw under one of Deadlock’s optics, obviously not giving up despite how badly Deadlock needed the rest.

Deadlock onlined his optics to find the matte black and iridescent blue-green jet crouching over him, beautiful faceplates creased with a frown. Waking up to find the other mech so close no longer disturbed Deadlock. Wing’s presence was simply an ever-present part of life now.

“What is it, Wing?” Deadlock growled.

“I’ve got something to ask you,” Wing purred, trailing his clawed fingertip down the line of Deadlock’s cheek. “And you’d better answer me correctly. I’ll _know_ if you’re lying.”

“What?”

“Have you noticed something different in our merges lately?” Wing asked, all innocence as his hand moved down to trace patterns over Deadlock’s thoracic armour. “As for myself, I no longer find them quite as satisfying as I used to. Do you know why that could be?”

“I’m sparked, Wing.” Deadlock said tiredly. “Pregnant. The newspark absorbs a lot of the energy from our overloads so they don’t feel quite so intense for us. Don’t they teach you _anything_ in this stupid city?”

Wing’s frame froze, his optics fixing on Deadlock’s face as he absorbed the information.

“I see.”

The jet melted, pinning Deadlock’s wrists beneath his knees and leaning down to kiss his way over Deadlock’s armour, glossa teasing at the transformation seams over the speedster’s Spark Chamber.

“Does that make you happy, Deadlock?” Wing asked, caressing the grounder’s sides, “To know you carry a piece of myself within you? That we have created _life_ together?”

Processor fogged with fatigue and growing pleasure, Deadlock couldn’t think of the safe answers to those questions, couldn’t parse anything beyond Wing’s skilful touches and the menace-filled lust pulsing from the jet above him.

“Y-yes.” Deadlock gasped, arching into Wing’s touch. “Yes, Wing. All of it.”

Abruptly Wing sat back on his heels, optics narrowed and possessive fury pouring from him.

“It doesn’t make _me_ happy, Deadlock.” Wing said sulkily.

Deadlock’s optics widened with comprehension, realising his mistake an instant before Wing’s claws extended and locked into place, hands shooting to the centre seam of Deadlock’s chestplates and wrenching them open with a violent twist. Energon from severed lines sprayed in sickening pink splotches across the jet’s faceplates as he slashed his way into Deadlock’s internals.

“I won’t share you with anyone. ANYONE!” Wing screamed, optics blazing with the force of his jealous rage.

Deadlock couldn’t force a sound from his vocaliser, his frame seizing in shock as Wing grabbed handfuls of his innards, wrenching them loose and tossing them aside with splattering sounds as he dug deeper, searching for the grounder’s Spark chamber. The jet’s EM Field beat relentlessly at Deadlock, punishing him in ways that simple physical pain never could.

By the time Wing had exposed the crystal housing Deadlock’s spark the speedster was barely conscious, lying under the crazed jet in an agonised stupor. He hoped that this was it, that this time Wing would offline him for good. He knew better than that. Even when nearly insane with anger Wing was too smart to ruin his favourite toy. He was so well-conditioned by this point that not even the recently onlined creator protocols could keep the crystal chamber from opening at Wing’s touch.

His spark bathed Wing’s beautiful, energon-coated face with warm lavender light.

“Good pet. This will all be over soon.” Wing hummed, affectionately nuzzling Deadlock’s cheek with his own sticky faceplates. “And then you’ll be _all mine_ again.”

Deadlock whimpered, struggling helplessly against shutdown warnings as familiar claws teased at the corona of his spark.

With deadly precision Wing located the little ball of energy that was their newspark and snuffed it out.

The backlash sent Deadlock crashing down into darkness, the sound of Wing’s delighted trill pursuing him into stasis.


	27. "i think we need to talk" [Syngnath!ShockBlurr]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill for Withdrawnwitch of Tumblr.  
> "Shockblurr for the meme. 'I think we need to talk'"  
> 157 words. had to scrap about a dozen things for this because of spoilers for IPS.  
> Fuck. This. Prompt.

Blurr was buried in his pile of blankets, curled into a ball when he felt the cautious brush of another EM Field testing his own.

Engine growling, the Ovaria hauled his field in and ignored Shockwave as the other mech approached. Shockwave had an excellent sense of self-preservation, Blurr could give him that.

“Blurr, I think we need to talk about this now.” The Incubator said, addressing the hidden mech.

“Nothing-to-talk-about.” Blurr said from inside his cocoon. “Frag-off.”

“The longer we leave this the more difficult it will be.” Shockwave insisted, taking another step closer to the berth. He wasn’t entirely sure of Blurr’s range in his Syngnath form and didn’t want to become acquainted with those claws.

Again.

“The-longer-we-leave-it-the-less-likely-I-am-to-tear-your-head-off.” Blurr retorted, sinking his claws into the blankets surrounding him. “And-I- _do_ -mean-that-literally.”

Blurr lost control of his Field briefly, swamping the other Syngnath with a wave of red-hot fury that drove Shockwave back a step.

“Very well then.”


	28. April Fools 2015 [Wing/Ovaria!Drift/Incubator!Ratchet]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April Fools Fic, a fake 'sneak peek' from Chapter 3 of 'Love me?'  
> Drift reveals his Ovaria nature to Ratchet and then says something VERY stupid.  
> [WARNING: References massacre in which there were civilian casualties, including children]

“And… there’s something else.” Drift was clearly reluctant to continue.

Wing reached out and took the grounder’s hand, squeezing it gently. Ratchet wasn’t sure if he envied their closeness or if the sappiness of the gesture made him want to purge his tanks.

“Because of what I did after you saved me, The speedster’s words came out slowly, his Field retreating from the easy contact as he forced himself to continue speaking “Abusing your gift of life like that… I owe you _more_ than just a life-debt.”

Ratchet couldn’t think of anything remotely civil to say to that so he forced his Field to remain politely neural and kept his vocaliser firmly offline.

 “What you said to me when I came around after surgery…” Drift trailed off, his optics dimming as he accessed the correct memory file.

“Listen to me, kid.” Drift started quoting from memory, “I saved your life today. What happens _next_ is up to you. Get a _paint’n’polish_ and visit the _Functionalists_ downtown – see if they can match you up with a job.” Drift’s vents hitched almost inaudibly as he finished the final lines. “You’re _special_ – I can tell. Now get out there and prove me right.”

Heavy silence filled the room. Ratchet couldn’t look at either of the neutral mecha. He remembered that day far too well, probably because of what Drift had done with his life afterwards. All the killing he had done as Deadlock.

“Was that an accurate quote?” Drift asked awkwardly. “I think about it often enough.”

“Me too, kid.” Ratchet admitted, staring down at his hands where they clenched around his glass.

Ratchet heard Drift run a deep cycle of his vents, tracking an odd pulse of support/encourage/push from the jet’s Field to Drift, backing up whatever silent conversation they were obviously having.

“I’ve… I’ve never forgotten it.” Drift said, vocalisation coming out low and rough.

Then Drift’s EM Field extended again and Ratchet nearly fell off his seat with the shock of what he felt.

_Syngnath… Ovaria… He’s…_

“You’re…” Ratchet’s vocaliser shut down, refusing to work.

“Yeah.” Drift met Ratchet’s optics steadily, “I know I let you down and nothing can erase what I did but I’m trying to make good now.”

Ratchet remained silent for a minute, staring the younger mech down.

Then he exploded.

“You’re trying to make good?” Ratchet roared, surging to his feet. “Do you seriously think that _anything_ you do could possibly absolve you of what you’ve done?”

Both of the neutral mechs flinched when the Medic’s field poured out, full of Syngnath harmonics, rage and the pain of old wounds reopened.

“I- _No!_ But…” Drift tried to defend himself.

“BUT NOTHING.” Ratchet slammed his hands onto the table leaning towards Drift. “The Bhul convoy? The Neutral colony afterwards? _You_ _slaughtered_ _them_ , Drift.”

That hit a nerve.

Drift’s Field flared with outrage and guilt.

“That was mercy. They were compromised; it was that or let the Functionalists have them.” Drift’s voice was raw. Wing recoiled from the emotional turmoil flooding their bond. “You _know_ what they do to us, Ratchet. Shockwave showed me his memories. I had to save them from that.”

Ratchet didn’t seem to hear him.

“I had family there, Drift. _Sparklings_.” Ratchet’s vents hitched on the last word, the grief in his EM Field stunning Drift into silence. “I can _never_ forgive you for their deaths.”

Overwhelmed and on the verge of losing control, Ratchet turned and fled.


	29. Coffee Shop AU [Drift/Ratchet]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saw this prompt on the OTP Prompts tumblr and my hands slipped.  
> "Imagine your OTP in a café AU. Person B is the cashier who has a crush on Person A, a regular customer. Bonus: B always gives A little treats like half-off donuts or cookies."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Dobe because you seemed kinda down

The usual early-morning regulars had come and gone, except one.

Drift was getting ready for the morning rush and cleaning the milk foamer, wondering what had happened to the double-espresso-shot-and-extra-syrup guy when the door opened in a gust of cold air and his favourite customer walked in. Drift couldn’t help the goofy smile that split his face when he saw Ratchet standing on the mat, shaking water off his coat. Not all of the customers did that and Drift had already spent a lot of time with a mop making sure nobody would slip on the tiled floor.

“You’re late today!” Drift called, starting to grind the beans for Ratchet’s usual order. “I was starting to worry that you’d found a coffee shop you like better.”  He teased, trying to wipe the grumpy look off Ratchet’s face.

_Or a_ barista _you like better._

He didn't say it out loud, but it was something he worried about. There were plenty of other coffee placed closer to Deltaran School of Medicine. The professor didn't _have_ to come to Drift's cafe for his caffeine fix. Ratchet rolled his eyes and come over to lean against the counter, his face was red from the cold and his coat dripped on the floor as he watched Drift effortlessly handle syrup bottles and the milk jug without spilling anything.

“Had a conference call with someone in Sydney and had to get up far too early. It just finished now otherwise I would have been in during the rush as usual.” Ratchet grumbled, rubbing his face tiredly with one hand. “One of these days I’m going to quit teaching and go back to doing surgery. It’ll be far less work and I won’t miss breakfast so often.”

He took his coffee with a look of pure gratitude and Drift had to turn away to hide his reaction to the little happy noises Ratchet made as he started in on the drink. The redhead wasn't always this... _enthusiastic_ about his coffee and Drift came very close to asking Ratchet if he'd like to get a room with it. He didn't want to waste the opportunity to talk, though. Ratchet didn't often hang around like this, he usually showed up when Drift was busy and got his coffee to go. Sure, they would banter while Drift made his order but when it was done the professor would be on his way. Drift could feel his face heating up and he bit his bottom lip, searching desperately for a distraction from the sounds Ratchet was making.

_Please tell me he doesn't always drink his coffee like this._

Then Drift's eyes fell on the pastry case and he got an idea.

Trying to get his blush under control Drift picked one of the enormous muffins out of the pasty case and took his time sliding it into a takeaway bag. Ratchet's sighs of coffee-induced bliss stopped and Drift figured it was safe to look. Unfortunately he turned around just in time to catch Ratchet licking foamed milk from his upper lip with a dreamy look on his face.

_I think my face is going to catch fire._

“That was  _perfect_ , thank you Drift.” Ratchet said blissfully, obviously meaning his coffee.

Drift could feel his ears burning anyway as his mind took a few seconds to figure out what Ratchet was talking about. He slid the muffin bag onto the counter next to Ratchet’s coffee. 

"What's this?" The professor raised an eyebrow, poking the pastry bag with a long, elegant finger.

“That’s on the house. Since you missed breakfast and all.” Drift blurted, staring at the counter as if it would somehow rescue him from the situation that had suddenly turned awkward.

Now it was Ratchet’s turn to blush.


	30. 'Should I keep Going' [Dratchet]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill for Turbopuppy on Tumblr.  
> "Should I keep going?“ Dratchet :D
> 
> This is NSFW, sticky fisting and dirty-talk

This was… new.

Ratchet was never exactly restrained with his reactions when they interfaced, but seeing the usually stoic medic so completely drunk with pleasure was definitely a first.

Drift wriggled his fingers just to make his lover moan, enjoying the way Ratchet’s head rolled slowly from side to side and he tried to force himself down on Drift’s hand. Lubricant flooded out of the medic’s valve where it was stretched over four of Drift’s fingers and he ducked his helm to lap at it, sucking Ratchet’s nub.

Overload ripped through the medic and Drift grinned at the screaming, thrashing mess of a mech he’d created. The thigh restraints held Ratchet in place so he didn’t damage himself and Drift enjoyed the firm clamp of internal valve mechanisms around his hand. It was much stronger than he’d expected and he burned with the desire to feel it around his spike.

“This _is_ fun.” He said, stroking the medic’s abdomen as Ratchet came down from the high of his overload. “I didn’t realise you could get quite _that_ loud.”

Ratchet mumbled something, looking at Drift with hazy optics. There was a trail of drool running down his chin and Drift shifted up to lick it away, keeping his hand inside his lover. Ratchet hummed with lazy satisfaction and kissed his way messily down Drift’s face until he found the swordsmech’s lips for a slow, open-mouthed kiss that tasted of his valve lubricants.

“Should I keep going?” Drift asked huskily when Ratchet finally let his mouth go. “Should I slide my thumb in there and let you overload around my fist? I kinda want to find out just how loud you can get, wanna see what your valve looks like closing around my wrist. You’re so hot when you’re like this; I want to see you _really_ come undone.”

The medic’s optics were blazing and he looked so turned on Drift wondered if he would be able to scrape together enough processor power to speak.

It took him a while, but eventually Ratchet managed it.

“Do it.”


	31. G1 Awkward Flirting [Skyfire/Optimus Prime]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promptfill for Scribeprotra of Tumblr  
> Skyfire/Opyimus Prime "Well, I mean, I’m not going to stop you if that’s what you want to do."

The rather one-sided debate had begun during morning mess, continued through the day and finally looked to be coming to a close in the main washrack.

“I am one of the few who are able to reach, your finish does need work and Sunstreaker created something just for your use.” Optimus argued patiently, knowing he was wearing the shuttle down. “If you refuse to use his gift, or dare to use it in a sloppy manner he and his twin will undoubtedly seek revenge.”

Skyfire thought it over for a bit, methodically scrubbing his anklejoints.

“And you really just want to help me polish my plating?” Skyfire’s voice was low and he spoke to the floor.

It was hard to find someone willing to help him maintain his armour. Well, someone willing to help that wasn’t doing it to gratify the wing kink many groundframes had. Skyfire liked to be asked, not mauled.

As soon as Skyfire spoke Optimus knew he’d won.

“Tonight? Yes.” The Prime said. “If you wish to engage in other activities afterwards I have some solar energon and some interesting deep-sea video footage that might interest you?”

“You want to help me clean up, feed me lovely solar energon and show me things no sentient creature has seen before?” Skyfire couldn’t stop the chuckle that vibrated through his frame. “It sounds like you’re asking me on a date!”

The way Optimus’ vents stalled and his audial housings twitched were a dead giveaway.

“So you  _are_  asking me on a date?” Skyfire asked. Wordlessly, the Prime nodded and the shuttle couldn’t believe it “Well, I mean, I’m not going to stop you if that’s what you want to do. I… kinda like spending time with you.”

The shy admission was met by a blinding smile as Optimus retracted his battlemask for the first time in Skyfire’s presence.


	32. You Look Incredible [Rung/Wing]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promptfill for The-Sparkbeat of Tumblr  
> '"You look incredible like that.“ With Ring maybe?.:)'
> 
> NSFW. Bondage.

Rung took a few steps backwards and admired his handiwork.

Wing was in a kneeling with a spreader bar keeping his knees wide, baring his array to Rung’s whim. The knight’s hands were crossed low behind his back, bound to his ankles with a length of sturdy red rope tied with an elegant configuration of knots. Thinner cord of a matching colour wound around Wing’s extended flightpanels. Rung had chosen a pattern of binding that complemented the smooth curves and sharp angles of Wing’s frame.

When combined with the gentle tremors of arousal chasing themselves over the jet’s frame the total effect was breathtaking.

“You look incredible like that.” Rung observed, watching the way Wing twitched and tried to lean closer to him.

He took pity on his mate and moved close, pressing himself up the length of the jet’s spine, between the bound and spread flightpanels so he could press his mouth to Wing’s audial.

“You know what I think?” Rung purred, “I think you’d look even more incredible after your third overload, lubricants running down your thighs and dripping all over the floor. What do you think about that?”

All Wing could do was whine.


	33. Playthings of Eris Outtake [Veteran!Drift/Young!Ratchet]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompftill for Anonymous on Tumblr  
> '"Just let me take care of you.” Dratchet PoE'
> 
> Minor robogore and oblivious pining idiots.

Drift checked the controls of their escape pod, noting with satisfaction that Jazz’s plan had worked perfectly. Every single escape pod on the Decepticon base had ejected at the same time, many of them showing multiple fake spark-signals. Their course was automatically set and unable to be changed but Drift trusted the Ops agent’s skills when it came to his job. Spaceflight-capable flightframes and Seekers were already emerging from the base and chasing after some of the escape pods in an attempt to recapture their prize, heading for pods rigged with fake signal generators and occasional incendiary or explosive devices.

_I pity the poor mechs who find Jazz’s shuttle. He looked pretty angry when we found Ratchet._

The signal dampeners Jazz had equipped them with ensured that Drift and Ratchet were invisible to scanners and theirs looked like an empty pod.  They would rendezvous safely with their cloaked contact ship while the Decepticons figured out what had happened and tried to round up all the missing pods.

A scraping sound and pained gasp from behind him had Drift spinning around in the cramped confines of the escape pod, weight balanced on his toes and one hand already holding a dagger that dropped from a forearm compartment into his waiting hand. He slid the weapon away with a surge of guilt when he saw the glare the young medic gave it. Ratchet was leaning against the rear wall of the small cabin, peeling away the temporary patch he’d slapped over a deep slice high up on his thigh. His damaged hands weren’t cooperating, not bending properly and causing the medic more pain.

“Here, let me get that.” Drift said, dropping easily down to kneel beside the injured mech and gently pushing his hands away.

Carefully snagging the edge of the patch with his own battle-roughened fingers Drift peeled it away from Ratchet’s plating, hissing through his denta at the pool of half-clotted energon behind it. He pulled his own first-aid kit from subspace, flipping it open with one hand.

“That went deep.” The warrior observed, fumbling through his kit for the wound-cleaning stuff he knew was in there.

“I know  _that_. I’m a medic and it also happens to be  _my fragging leg_.” Ratchet growled with more spirit than he’d shown since Jazz had sealed them into this escape pod.

The armour around the wound twitched and other plates flared out as the younger mech bristled aggressively and Drift raised an optical ridge.

“Really? I thought you’d just picked it up as a souvenir.” He said dryly.

Ratchet cycled his optics a few times and his armour slowly relaxed. Drift found the packet of sterile wipes by feel and dumped them out on the floor beside them. Ratchet reached for one without thinking and grunted when horrible grinding noises came from the mechanisms of one finger.

“Ratchet, don’t.” Drift said firmly, grabbing the medic’s wrists and moving his hands away from the first-aid kit, pressing them gently against Ratchet’s glass chestplate. “I know more than enough about field dressing to handle this. Let me take care of you, ok? You can always tell me if I’m about to do something stupid, same as always.”

The signal dampeners they wore meant Drift couldn’t’ read the younger mech’s EMF, he was forced to rely on physical responses which were frustratingly ambiguous. Ratchet’s respiration rate had increased and he was completely motionless, optics wide and bright, locked on Drift’s face.

_Is he looking at my optics or my mouth?_

The sudden realisation of how close they were crashed over Drift and he wanted nothing more than to lean forward and kiss Ratchet, find every single place that make him shiver and once he’d overloaded him into stasis never let the stubborn little fragger out of his sight again.

He was leaning forwards, drawn by those beautiful optics and the tempting curve of lip when Ratchet snorted through his vents, snapping Drift out of his trance.

“Fine. Just hurry up and seal those lines before I make an even bigger mess.” Ratchet grumped with a challenging glare at the swordsmech, twitching his wrists out of Drift’s grasp and folding his arms.

There was a faint flush colouring the medic’s faceplates at the edge of the infrared spectrum that Drift found utterly adorable. Not that he’d ever tell the younger mech.

“You’re the boss, Medic Ratchet.” Drift covered his lapse with a wink and some cheeky subglyphs, enjoying the expression that crossed Ratchet’s faceplates as he picked up a sterile wipe and opened the packet carefully. “I am at your command.”


	34. Let Me Take Care of You [Drift/Ratchet]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promptfill for Iopele of Tumblr  
> '"Just let me take care of you.” and you know who I want... I'm very predictable, huh? XD'  
> Predictable in the extreme, mate and I love you for it.
> 
> EXTREMELY NSFW. Bathing/washing, lingerie kink, oral, sticky.

It took a lot of time and patience to bring Drift to this state but the results were worth it.

And Ratchet enjoyed every moment of the process.

First was a thorough shower and then came polishing, carefully smoothing wax over every inch of Drift’s armour and bringing it to a beautiful shine. The speedster gleamed like a precious sculpture from one of Iacon’s long lost art galleries by the time Ratchet was done. Good behaviour was rewarded with special energon candies bartered from Swerve and Rung and by the end of this Drift was usually a happy, purring puddle of plating.

But that was still only the beginning.

After that he shamelessly indulged one of Drift’s most closely-guarded secrets by dressing him in lingerie designed specifically for Cybertronians. Sturdy silks and soft cotton-thread lace that whispered on over his satin-smooth armour, cut and colours turning him into a visual feast. The combination of smooth, healthy armour and delicate organic fabric made Ratchet’s hands tingle with the desire to caress every square inch of Drift’s plating, but he restrained himself.

Then when he was pampered within an inch of his life and more relaxed and open than Ratchet ever saw him outside their quarters he would coax Drift to lie on the cusion-covered berth and go down on him.

For hours.

Lips and glossa, hands and gentle denta patiently brought Drift to overload after overload from spike and valve. Ratchet would reduce Drift to a gasping, trembling, sated mess that could barely move. At some point during this particular session Ratchet had accidentally worn through the silk panties he’d carefully tied over Drift’s pelvic armour earlier.

The abrupt change in sensation drew new and addictive sounds from his mate and Ratchet knew he’d ruin as many pairs as it took to get to hear Drift make _that_ noise again.

Sometimes while he was still able to produce words Drift would sometimes raise his helm and look down at Ratchet with optics blown wide, chin streaked with drool and lower lip slightly bruised from where he’d bitten it while trying to stay quiet during his first few overloads. When he did that Ratchet knew Drift wanted something different than what they originally planned.

“Ra-Ratch. I need… need it, need _you_.” Drift gasped.

Ratchet crawled up the berth and felt Drift’s legs rise to wrap around his waist, ankles hooking together to trap him where the swordsmech wanted him. Shaky hands rose to trace his features and Ratchet rested his weight on his knees and elbows, achingly hard spike hovering just beyond Drift’s soaked folds while he chased after Drift’s fingers with lubricant-slicked lips, making a game of catch-and-kiss until Drift pulled him into a desperate, messy kiss.

When they parted Drift flexed his legs urgently, rubbing Ratchet’s spike through the soggy mess of lubricant and torn fabric that had been his favourite pair of panties.

“It’s ok, Drift.” Ratchet rumbled soothingly, “You’ll be alright. Just let me take care of you.”


	35. 'Lights on or lights off?' [Drift/Rung]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promptfill for Anonymous on Tumblr  
> Drift/Rung, "Lights on or lights off?"
> 
> Dom/Sub, bondage, gags, toys, suspension, mess.

Drift wasn’t one for elaborate setups. He preferred simple tools and the ability to move his partner however he wanted during a session. It was easier with Rung, since he was smaller and lighter than many of Drift’s past partners. Today he was branching out, being a little more adventurous and testing his own patience as much as his lover.

It was a very pretty sight and Drift decided it was worth the extra time.

Rung hung suspended in a harness of broad straps, lying on his back in midair with arms crossed behind his back and legs folded so his pedes were behind his aft. There was a removable strap currently supporting his helm. If he felt like it, later Drift could remove it, tilt Rung’s helm back and order the smaller mech to suck. Right now Rung’s mouth was occupied by his favourite ball gag. He’d proven many times that he was incapable of keeping quiet in the berth and Drift knew his self-control wouldn’t last in the face of his mate’s relentless dirty talk.

Rung was still making plenty of noise, though.

Moaning and twitching in the suspension harness and drooling freely around the gag, oral solvents pooling in his mouth and running down the sides of his face as his helm jerked from side to side in mindless pleasure.

_He’s dribbling that much on purpose, the dirty fragger._

Drift hadn’t bothered with a spreader bar so the orange mech was currently squeezing his bound thighs together, desperately trying to get more friction from the tiny butterfly vibrator buzzing away softly over his external node to keep him occupied while Drift put the finishing touches on his arrangement.

“Decisions, decisions.” Drift sighed.

Blazing blue optics focused on him, curiosity flickering Rung’s face behind his gag.

With a wicked grin Drift held up a thick blindfold and waggled it at Rung.

“Lights on, or lights off?”

The mere suggestion had Rung overloading with a gargling howl.


	36. 'Just let me take care of you' [Megatron/Soundwave]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promptfill for Scribeprotra of Tumblr  
> Megatron/Soundwave "Just let me take care of you.”
> 
> TFP. BroTP angst and handfeeding.

He was perfectly capable of looking after himself.

At one point, (the best time of his left even if he hadn’t known it then) he’d even had five others to look after as well and he’d coped just fine.

Now it seemed that after the accident Soundwave wasn’t even to fuel himself.

It was humiliating.

 _My_ arms _are disabled, not my manipulator cables._

Soundwave stayed silent. His old friend knew exactly what his glare meant.

Megatron shook his helm, the smirk that had replaced his smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he held the energon ration for Soundwave.

“You do so much for the cause, for _me_. Just let me take care of you this time.” Megatron rumbled, holding the cube within easy drinking distance for Soundwave.

Another glare and a silent sigh and Soundwave gave in, letting his oldest remaining friend take care of him.


	37. 'I like making you wait' [Jazz/Prowl]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promptfill for Anonymous of Tumblr  
> "I like making you wait.“ Jazz & Prowl plz?
> 
> Jazz is a whiny brat. That is all.

“So… when are you gonna tell me what it is?”

Jazz sprawled across half of Prowl’s desk, getting in the way and generally making a nuisance of himself.

“You must wait until the appropriate time, like everyone else.” Prowl said disapprovingly, rescuing his favourite stylus from the saboteur’s twitchy fingers.

“But I wanna know  _noooooooooow_.” Jazz flopped over to lie on his back, pouting at Prowl upside-down from beneath his visor.

For being one of the most deadly Cybertronians left alive, Jazz could do a scarily accurate imitation of a whiny human child.

“If I ruin the surprise Bluestreak will never forgive me.” Prowl gave up on getting anything done with Jazz in this mood and cupped his mate’s face in his hands. “Besides, I like making you wait.”

Jazz purred at the deliberate reminder of the previous night, reaching up to run a finger along Prowl’s chevron in a way that made the larger mech shiver.

“Oh I know you do, love.” His visor flashed in a wink. “And I like complaining while you do.”


	38. 'I just want to watch you' [Mer!Hot Rod/Mer!Tailgate]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promptfill for Anonymous of Tumblr.  
> Mer!Roddy/you choice "I just want to watch you.”
> 
> I put this prompt into ASCW, after mer!Roddy's heat cycle because it fits with ehat I have planned. Obviously it is a spoiler.  
> In order for this to make sense you need to read these two spoiler chunks from tumbler first. [[One](http://adhesivesandscrap.tumblr.com/post/116992058051/ok-all-these-merroddy-heat-asks-made-me-want-to)] [[Two](http://adhesivesandscrap.tumblr.com/post/117069814596/hoookay-continuing-this-from-yesterday-skipping)] Someone bought the WRC mer waterproof vibrators because they're not into eachother like 'that' and mer!Tailgate is pretty fucking tired of her hands. Tailgate has no problems demonstrating to Roddy that he won't be punished for fiddling with himself here, because Mer culture is quite different to the way Roddy was raised.

Tailgate looked at the small object with an expression of extreme skepticism. It was supposedly waterproof and looked to be about the right size and shape. Hot Rod was inspecting one of his own, fins flattened and obviously far more uncomfortable than Tailgate.

“So, the humans use these things? And they’re good?” Tailgate asked, trying to distract the captive-born mer.

“Yeah, supposedly.” Roddy mumbled, looking off to the side.

“Look, Rod. Nobody’s going to hurt you for pleasuring yourself here. You know that, right?” Tailgate said, putting a hand on the orange mer’s arm to get his attention. “It’s not like the other place. They’re good here, as close to a real pod as landwalkers can be.”

Hot Rod’s fins twitched and waved but he nodded.

“I know, but… I can’t forget.” He slumped in the water.

Tailgate nudged Hot Rod playfully, trying to lighten his mood.

“Would you like to tell me how these buzz-sticks work one more time and I’ll go first? Show you how it’s done?”

It wasn’t a smile, but the old-fashioned look on Hot Rod’s face was much better than the nervous fear he’d been displaying for the last two weeks.

“And show the coward that it’s safe, I understand.” The orange mer’s voice was full of self-loathing that made Tailgate hiss angrily. Hot Rod flinched violently and clicked apologetically. “I’m sorry, ‘Gate. I will try, I promise. I… I just want to watch you, for now. If that’s still alright?”

“It is, you big frilly idiot.”


	39. Wreck the grump [Wing/Ratchet/Drift]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promptfill for carnelianstars-strawberrywine of Tumblr  
> For the prompt whenever your brain comes back form being on strike... Drift, Wing, and Ratchet..."Well, I mean, I’m not going to stop you if that’s what you want to do."
> 
> Very NSFW. Polyamory, established relationship, Wing's filthy mouth.

“Do you want to hear what we’ve been planning?” Wing whispered in the medic’s audial.

Ratchet was sitting on the edge of the berth with Wing draped over his back. Drift was leaning against the wall, watching them with a knowing smile. Ratchet’s mates had decided that tonight was his turn to be the centre of attention tonight and had been giggling randomly all day. Well, Wing had been giggling. Drift just kept giving Ratchet that little smile that brought his fans online every time the speedster aimed it at him.

“Alright then, enlighten me.”

Gentle fingers stroked up and down his arms, slipping gently into favoured transformation seams.

“First we’re going to get you so revved up you can’t think about anything but how much you want us.” Wing purred, nibbling teasingly on Ratchet’s chevron. “Then we’re going to get you on your back I’m going to go down on you while Drift rides your face.”

Drift smirked and licked his lips, blowing Ratchet a kiss.

“Somehow I don’t think you’re going to stop there.” Ratchet’s voice was strained and incredibly detailed memories of the last time something like this happened already had his core temperature rising.

“You’re right about that.” Wing crooned, nuzzling the side of Ratchet’s helm.

“Mm-hmm.” Drift pushed himself away from the wall and sauntered over to the pair on the berth. There was more sway in his walk than necessary and Ratchet heard his cooling fans click on. “Thing is, Wing isn’t going to let you overload that easily. I’m going to mess your face up as much as I like, but you’re going to have to be a bit more patient than that.”

 _I did_ not _just make that noise!_

The speedster placed his hands on Ratchet’s knees and parted them easily. Ratchet hissed when relatively cool hands touched the scorching metal of his pelvic array.

“Oh yes. You see you’re going to have to wait until Drift’s valve is satisfied and he feels like a change of pace.” Wing’s voice was silky and dark with promise. “Then we’ll get you up on your hands and knees and I’ll spike you while you get to work on sucking Drift off. How does that sound?”

Pressed between the hot frames of his unbelievably attractive mates Ratchet found it hard to think.

 _Oh, Allspark I_ love _the sound of this._

“Sounds interesting enough.” The medic tried to sound uninterested but the crackle of static in his words turned his tone into an aroused growl instead. He tried again, with not much more success. “Well, I mean, I’m not going to stop you if that’s what you want to do.”

“ **Excellent**.”


	40. 'Don't hide' [Optimus Prime/Soundwave]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promptfill for Anonymous on Tumblr  
> Optimus/Soundwave, "No, shh, don't hide... let me see."
> 
> TFP. A giant mess of fluff and feels.  
> ...shit I ship it now. Especially with a side of grumpy medic.

It was humiliating that the leader of the enemy forces was able to set aside his defences so easily while he struggled to do the same. Optimus retracted his battlemask and smiled at Soundwave, reaching up to brush his thumbs along the base of the silent mech’s visor.

Unconsciously leaning into that touch, Soundwave pressed his forehelm to Optimus’ and tried to find the courage to bare his face to his soon-to-be lover. As soon as he felt the cool air of the room on his faceplates Soundwave lurched back, turning away so Optimus couldn’t see his expression.

Those hands were back, strong and gentle, wrapping around his waist.

“Ssh, easy Soundwave.” Optimus’ voice was different without the mask in the way and the quality of it shocked Soundwave into stillness. “Don’t hide… let me see?”

Soundwave turned and met the Prime’s optics with his own silver ones, the old mark of his caste he’d kept as a reminder of where he’d come from.

The colour of his optics didn’t seem to matter. Optimus’ expression didn’t waver and for the first time Soundwave smiled at him without the protection of his visor.


	41. 'You look incredible like that' [Drift/Rung]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promptfill for Anonymous on Tumblr  
> "You look incredible like that" Drift/Rung please
> 
> Fluffy nonsense.

Rung sprawled across their shared berth, his face a mask of concentration as he painted delicate scrollwork along the edges of Drifts finials with a tiny brush. Drift was sitting on the floor, leaning against the berth and trying not to twitch and ruin Rung’s hanidwork. It  _tickled_.

“I’m nearly done, Drift.”

The brush retreated and Drift carefully tipped his helm back, looking at Rung with his face covered in little smudges of paint and the tip of his glossa peeking form the corner of his mouth as he focused on his self-appointed task. He looked gorgeous. Alive and focused and in his element.

“You look  _incredible_  like that.” The compliment popped out before Drift was even aware of speaking. Rung blushed and shook his head, gently nudging Drift back to the right position. “You do, Rung. You really do.”

“You be quiet or I’ll paint ‘I’m a smarmy flatterer’ back here where you can’t get it off.” Rung warned and Drift smiled to himself, finials easily picking up the embarrassed heat radiating from Rung’s faceplates.


	42. Too hot, hot damn. [Rung/Whirl]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promptfill for Anonymous on Tumblr.  
> "That was hotter than it had any right to be.” Whirl/Rung in non-patient/doc AU?
> 
> Back to the Circus AU. These two have a thing for flexible frames.

“Wow.”

“Yeah, wow.”

It was rare for Rung to be speechless and Whirl wished he wasn’t completely lost for words so he could tease the smaller mech about it.

He could do plenty of that later. Now was for watching.

Watching the potential new act audition.

And what an audition it was.

Smooth, sensuous contortion and transformation blending seamlessly together into an act that was somehow supremely athletic and just this side of ‘too erotic for public performance.’

When the performance was obviously drawing to an end. Whirl nudged Rung and cocked his head to the side, indicating that they should leave. The only thing louder than Rung’s fans right now was his own and no way did he want to be That Mech. Rung nodded, adjusting his glasses as he followed Whirl out of the main arena.

“That. Was way hotter than it had any right to be.” The helo said with complete sincerity.

“Indeed.” Rung sounded a little breathless. He looked up at his partner. “Your berth or mine?”


	43. Things said after it was over [Drift/Ratchet]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promptfill for Jack3dragon of Tumblr.  
> "Because I'm a glutton for punishment today Dratchet+22: things you said after it was over"
> 
> This got very angsty.

Their relationship started with an explosion but it ended with a whimper.

Beloved faceplates cold and hard, optics and Field distant as Ratchet separated himself from the situation.

Separated himself from Drift.

“You’re in love with an idealised version of me that you’ve built in your head.” The medic was saying. “With an idea of me, a fantasy. I’m not that mech and I can _never_ be him, Drift.”

“But…” Drift was numb. He felt like he should fight back, should fight to make this relationship work but he couldn’t find the words.

He wasn’t any good at fighting with words, only with his fists.

“When that fantasy and reality don’t match up, I’ve seen what happens.” Ratchet continued, ignoring Drift’s failed interruption when the speedster couldn’t produce any more words. “And it’s only going to get worse the longer it goes on. Trying to be what you want… The lie would destroy both of us and I’m not going to stand by and let that happen.”

There was real pain in Ratchet’s optics and all the speedster wanted to do was take the ambulance in his arms and soothe that pain away like he had so many times before. Except now he couldn’t. Now it was forbidden. Now they were no longer each other’s to hold.

“But… But I love you.” The words were small and pathetic and they were all Drift had left.

“I’m sorry Drift, but you don’t. Not really. One day you’ll see that.”

With that Ratchet walked out, leaving Drift alone with the remains of his shattering spark.


	44. Things you said After It was Over [Ovaria!Drift/Ovaria!Wing]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promptfill for Anonymous on Tumblr.  
> "How about LM Drift/Wing, with Things You Said After It Was Over?"
> 
> This is a nibble of the prehistory for the fic 'Love Me?' in my Syngnath Chronicles, Ovaria!Drift using the Greatsword Aequitas to channel some of his spark energy into Ovaria!Wing, keeping him alive after the battle outside New Crystal City.

Wing arched helplessly against the force shoving him into the ground, screaming helplessly as _something_ filled his chest with fire and emptied it back out again just as fast. His spark guttered and flared, hammering against its crystal prison as a power too strong to resist forced it –forced _him_ \- to stay. He howled in denial, clawing after the peace and glory he’d come so close to touching before it was snatched away again.

The flames denied him, binding him back into the physical world and the unbelievable agony that was his frame.

Optical feeds came back online, filled with the sky and Drift’s faceplates. The younger Ovaria was crouching over him, faceplates haggard.

“It’s over?”

For being the first words spoken after nearly –or was it actually?- dying, Wing thought he could have done better. Somehow Wing could feel how tired the other Syngnath was, feel the lingering terror of imminent loneliness eddying in his Spark.

“Yeah. Fight’s over. We won.” Drift panted. “Don’t move, medics will be here soon.”

“Ok.”

Neither of them spoke, Wing spending the wait trying to figure out what in Primus’ name had just happened.


	45. Things you said when you were crying [Wing/Drift]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promptfill for Sweetpupperoo of Tumblr.  
> "things you said when you were crying" Drift and Wing? \;D
> 
> This starts as happy drunk storytelling then goes pear-shaped.

Drift lost his balance and slipped from his chair. He didn’t bother trying to get back on it. He was happy lying on the floor, his vents aching with the effort of drawing in enough cool air.

“And we had inspection that day, so Dai-” Wing continued his story animatedly, gesturing with his hands as he described the scene. By some miracle he didn’t knock over their nearly-empty cubes of highgrade with his rather sloppy motions.

“No, Wing, have mercy!” Drift begged in between gales of laughter. “Please, he _didn’t!_ ”

“Oh he did.” Wing affirmed with a wide grin. “In front of the whole citadel, too.”

“Oh, oh _Primus_.” The speedster burst into fresh howls of laughter as he pictured the scene, tears beading at the corners of his optics. “Oh that’s _brilliant_. I’m never going to be able to look him in the face without laughing again.”

Something in the words triggered a memory and Drift curled in on himself, shaking with sobs.

“Drift? Drift, what’s wrong?” Wing slid from his chair to kneel beside Drift, cycling his optics with overcharged –but still genuine- concern.

“Gasket. I’m never going to see him laugh again.”

Wing didn’t know who Gasket was and he didn’t know what to say as Drift clung to him and howled.


	46. Things you didn't say at all [Wing/Drift]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promptfill for Snowtheneko of Tumblr.  
> "Things you didn't say at all (DriftxWing)"
> 
> Canon character death.

The battle was over.

Drift looked down at the frame of the knight greying on the desert floor. He was still covered in energon and organic fluids from the battle, holding the wound in his side with one hand the Wing’s Greatsword awkwardly in the other.

_Why? Why didn’t you pull your sword sooner?_

“Thank you, Wing. Thank you for a second chance.” Drift whispered, wondering if there was a part of the knight left in his sword that might hear them.


	47. Things you said when you were scared [Jazz/Prowl]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promptfill for Rizobact  
> "Oreos + #18?"
> 
> I honestly had no idea that Oreos=JazzProwl >.

::Prowl, I’m not sure if this is gonna work.::

::Trust me, Jazz.::

They hung in darkness so thick not even Jazz’s visor could help him penetrate it. His audials were offline and proprioception slagged beyond recognition. All he had was touch, sight and comms and in this vertical shaft deep beneath Kaon only two of those were useful.

::I trust _you_ , it’s the rest of the universe I don’t slagging trust.::

Prowl went still, doorwings quivering hard in the darkness as Jazz realised what he’d said. The infamous Jazz, Meister, demon of Cybertron who trusted and was trusted by nobody had just admitted to trusting _Prowl_.


	48. Things you said when you thought I was asleep [Wing/Ovaria!Drift]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promptfill for Anonymous on Tumblr  
> "Wing and drift, things you said when you thought I was asleep. (Forgot number oops)"
> 
> A little snippit from Ovaria!Drift's first few weeks in New Crystal City

Drift was dozing when Wing returned to the apartment.

He had curled up on the jet’s couch since the structure retained heat better than the berth and drifted off in the middle of trying to read a datapad. The Ovaria was a light sleeper however and the sound of Wing landing on the balcony woke him even before the Knight entered the apartment. He pretended to be asleep, deciding to see if Wing would leave him where he was obviously comfortable or force him to move to a more appropriate place to sleep.

Obviously assuming that Drift would be in the berthroom or washracks at this time of night the jet walked normally until he passed the end of the couch and saw Drift lying on it, apparently asleep. Taking shameless advantage of his superior EMF senses Drift tracked the shifts in Wing’s Field as the jet saw him and froze. There was surprise, confusion, a brief flash of _worry/pondering_ and then the jet relaxed, cycling a slow draught of air through his vents. It was easy to tell when the jet recognised the datapad Drift had been trying to read because something like shame filled his Field.

“Myths and Monsters.” Wing’s voice was barely a thread of sound and Drift fought down a jolt of surprise. He checked his own EMF and there was nothing there to indicate that he was awake, so was the jet talking to himself?

“You’re not a monster to me, Drift. When I look at you I see someone who I’d like to be friends with, if you gave me a chance.”

Drift didn’t know what to make of that, continuing to feign sleep as the Knight sighed and walked silently to the berthroom. He heard the thump of Wing flopping onto his berth and then the jet rustling around, making himself comfortable.

Drift stretched and settled himself more comfortably into the embrace of the couch, thinking about what Wing had said.

_I wonder if he meant it._


	49. Things you said that I wasn't meant to hear [Ambulon/Fort Max]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promptfill for Bammshee  
> "things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear:" Ambulon/who ever you like :)
> 
> Possible Ambulon and Fort Max BECAUSE FUCK YOU VERY MUCH FOR THE SHIP

“You should talk to him.”

First Aid’s voice emerged from the side corridor loud and clear. Ambulon stopped and did an about-face. He didn’t want to see the other mech right now. Every time they saw each other neither of them could help remembering Pharma and… he couldn’t deal with that today.

“I don’t know.”

Fortress Maximus’ deep voice was unmistakable and Ambulon felt the sudden urge to turn around and resume his previous path. He kept going in the new direction though, trying to walk quietly so they didn’t know anyone had overheard.

“Why not? You’ll never know unless you ask.”

 _Stop pestering him, Aid. He obviously doesn’t want to_.

“Maybe before I flipped out and shot Rung, but not now.” Fort Max sounded miserable. “I’m too dangerous. I shouldn’t even be allowed to have friends, let alone… anything more”

“Ambulon is tougher than he looks.” First Aid sounded stern. “Let him decide that for himself.”

As soon as the implications of Aid’s words registered in Ambulon’s processors he stopped dead, one pede still in mid-air.

_What the slag?!_


	50. Things you said that I wasn't meant to hear [Drift/Perceptor/Ratchet]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promptfill for Sharpshooterbluestreak of Tumblr  
> "Dratchet +20"
> 
> NSFW, Driftceptor, hinted Drift/Perceptor/Ratchet.

Ratchet was on his way to check and resupply the science lab first-aid kits. It was normally Ambulon or First Aid’s job but he was getting tired of the Medbay and left one of the junior medics in charge while he took the opportunity to wander around.

 _Brainstorm’s first. He does more soldering_.

The main lab corridors weren’t soundproofed but he still didn’t notice the sounds coming from Perceptor’s office door until it was too late to sneak away and pretend he hadn’t heard. It was obvious what was going on, those sounds were unmistakable as well as the panting and moans of two very familiar voices.

_Keep walking, just keep walking._

But he couldn’t.

Ratchet was frozen to the spot, hypnotised by the strangely beautiful harmony of Perceptor and Drift in pleasure.

“Gonna… Percy I’m _close_.”

Drift’s voice was ragged. The speedster was obviously riding the raw edge of overload and Ratchet bit his lip, remembering the last time his own voice had sounded like that.

“Mmmph, don’t fight it Drift.” Perceptor didn’t sound much better off. The scientist’s normally smooth voice emerging in a growl that sent shivers down Ratchet’s backstruts.

 _I should_ not _be listening to this._

“Overload with me, Drift. Say his name and overload with me.”

_What?_

The pair overloaded, Ratchet’s designation emerging from both their vocalisers in ways that made the ambulance wonder if this was a dream.

“We should ask him.” Perceptor rumbled, voice clear despite post-overload static.

“I don’t think he likes me at all, Percy. You know that.” Drift sounded resigned and Ratchet’s Spark twinged.

Ratchet decided it was time to move on, before he could hear anything else he wasn’t supposed to.


	51. "It was an accident!" [Cygate]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Injury Prompt from Tumblr: "It was an accident", for Cygate with Cyclonus saying it please.
> 
> Something silly with a rather drunk Cyclonus

Cyclonus was frustrated. And drunk. Those were his only excuses.

Dragged along to some inane social thing he only attended because Tailgate asked him to and despite the warm fuzz of engex in his tank lowering his inhibitions he tried his hardest not to smack certain irritating shipmates who only became more annoying when they themselves were overcharged.

Rodimus did seem to have a good thing going with the whole bang-his-forehelm-on-the-table idea. Maybe it disconnected key neural circuitry before it self-destructed in the face of Skids and Swerve’s current pun competition? It seemed to be worth a try as Skids achieved new heights –or was it lows?- in the usage of suggestive wordplay.

Then Swerve’s retort hit the flightframe’s audials and a warning popped up on his HUD.

So Cyclonus moved his flagon to the side and let his helm drop towards the table, hoping to erase those words from his cortex.

Thump. Snap. Tinkle of little metal shards falling onto other metal.

_What?_

Cyclonus hauled his helm back up to see everyone looking at him with a mixture of horror and fear, Tailgate’s visor blazing and both hands covering his faceplate. The minibot radiated dismay so strongly Cyclonus thought he could almost taste it.

 _I am_ very _drunk._

With that in mind, Cyclonus looked down to see tiny fragments of matte grey metal littering the table, with one very familiar-looking horntip in the middle of them. Reaching up with one hand, he felt around carefully and confirmed that the replacement horn Tailgate had so painstakingly crafted for him had just shattered all over the table.

 _Oh no_.

“It… it was an accident.” He said into the silence, optics locked on Tailgate.

There was nervous laughter and Tailgate helped him collect the fragments in an empty glass for reconstruction when they were sober.

Cyclonus never head-desked again.


	52. Oops [Jazz/Prowl]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Injury prompt: Jazz and Prowl with“ that’s not supposed to bend that way ”?
> 
> Jazz watched Cirque Du Soleil and got... ideas.  
> G1. Shoulder dislocation.

Prowl arrived at the coordinates deep within the caves to find Jazz wedged into a crack in the rocks, frame contorted impossibly. It looked as if he’d fallen at an odd angle and slid down the gap, trying futilely to stop his fall with his palm magnets and ending up thoroughly trapped. There was some odd equipment scattered on the floor; bars and ropes lying amidst a pile of rubble that had come from the ceiling. Prowl stepped around the mess as he calculated the best way to free the saboteur without further injuring him.

“How did this happen?” Prowl asked, slowly guiding Jazz’s limbs as the minibot twitched and tried to help.

“Didn’t anchor the trapeze properly.” Jazz grunted.

Prowl decided that he really didn’t want to know why Jazz had felt it necessary to set up a trapeze or what he had been practicing with it. By the time Jazz was freed from the rocks Prowl was determined to smelt the entire trapeze rig. He watched Jazz test his limbs before pushing himself to his pedes and attempting to move through his full range of motion with rather disastrous results. Prowl flinched as one of Jazz’s arms rotated grotesquely, only held to the socket by overstrained cables.

“That’s… not supposed to bend like that.” Jazz said stupidly as Prowl rushed forward to grab the limb and support it before it could detach completely from Jazz’s frame.

“If Ratchet removes it and slaps you with it I will not stop him.” Prowl said. “I don’t trust you to get to Medbay under your own power; I’m calling a pickup team.”

Jazz grumbled, lowering himself back to the floor with Prowl at his side to wait for retrieval.


	53. Almost Busted [Longarm/Blurr]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Injury Prompt: “ i’m fine, i can walk, just give me a minute ” with blurr and longarm? 

Something had gone wrong, a streak of blue-grey shooting past Shockwave’s disguised form to smash into the spacebridge control console. The machine exploded spectacularly, throwing his heavy frame across the room to strike the wall with bruising force. He lay stunned for long minutes, trying to figure out how to cycle his vents again and feeling the familiar pain of small points of burning debris land on his frame. The Longarm profile took over control of his frame as the situation threw Shockwave back to the Council’s torture chambers.

_Trapped/glowing point in the darkness/mode-lock/TRAPPED/must escape/glow is branding iron/trapped/painpainPAIN_

A familiar EM Field surrounded Shockwave, the Longarm profile identifying it before he could react and bringing optical systems up. The image of a gaunt, exhausted-looking Blurr looming over him bothered Shockwave, that Elite Guard emblem holding his attention more than the stream of words pouring from those fascinating lipplates. The Longarm profile was left to answer the question while Shockwave retreated, trying to recover his mental balance in the aftermath of that flashback.

“I am fine, Agent Blurr.” Longarm said. “I can walk, just give me a minute.”


	54. Let Me Carry You [Wing/Deadlock]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Injury Prompt:“let me carry you” Wing and Deadlock :D
> 
> Wing suffers a bout of sky-sickness and Deadlock steps up to help in the aftermath.  
> (This might end up being rewritten into the 'Paths to Redemption' AU, I'm not sure yet)

They were out in the City when it happened.

Wing was showing Deadlock one of the botanical gardens filled with cyber-biological lifeforms –flora and fauna- rescued from Cybertron. It wasn’t really something Deadlock was interested in; he had limited use for pretty things and the smaller fauna of the Dead End had instilled in him an automatic hostility towards anything that could potentially be competition for fuel.

 _If it doesn’t have a tank big enough to be worth the effort of gutting it then what’s the_ point?

“So can you eat this one?” Deadlock asked, studying some weird crystalline pods hanging from a branching spiral-shape. “It looks edible.”

“No, none of the things in this part of the garden are edible.” Wing said for the umpteenth time. “That’s another garden.”

Deadlock snorted with disgust and turned away from the pod spiral; the sound startling some tiny avian creature that had been perched on it. He ignored it but Wing’s optics locked on the creature, tracking the silvery shape as it shot straight up and vanished far overhead. Some strange, strangled sound came from his vocaliser that the Decepticon had never heard before.

Before Deadlock figured out what was happening the jet’s powerful flight engines fired and he took off, rocketing straight up in a vertical take-off that verged on dangerous speeds. Expecting that Wing would show off by catching the creature and bringing it back as the centrepiece of some lecture on the importance of life or something, Deadlock crossed his arms and scowled after the retreating shape of Wing as he shot up… and up… and up.

_He’s not turning…_

The ceiling of the massive cavern where the city was hidden was very, very far away but the jet was closing on it at something near his maximum speed. Deadlock increased the magnification from his optics, fangs sinking into his lip as he watched that white shape continue unwaveringly towards solid rock.

“Turn, turn, turn, turn you idiot _TURN_.” Deadlock chanted quietly and roared the last word a bare second before Wing collided with the vaulted stone ceiling of the cavern.

His shout alerted citizens nearby and Deadlock answered their questions distractedly as he watched Wing’s distant form slowly disconnect from the ceiling and begin to fall, repeating the journey in reverse with no signs of life or consciousness in his frame as it came back down.

Flight engines roared as civilian flightframes filled the air, slowing Wing’s descent and bringing him back to earth in a controlled fashion.

“What the slag was that?” Deadlock demanded as several medics appeared, rounding on one he recognised from the Citadel.

“Sky-sickness.” The medic said, visibly trying to will the flightframes to bring his patient down NOW. “All flyers that came with us have had coding installed to help but the adaptation is patchy; some suffer occasional lapses like Wing just did. The results are always spectacular, in a single-minded kind of way. It looks like he might have survived this one with most limbs intact.”

Deadlock eyed the attendant medics; none of their kibble suggested an ambulatory altmode. One of them transformed; becoming an extremely advanced-looking medberth.

“How are you getting him to the hospital?” The Decepticon asked as the flightframes finally deposited Wing’s battered and unconscious frame on the platform of the transformed medic’s altmode.

“Someone is on their way.”

“Too slow.” Deadlock transformed, glad for once of the squared-off shape and sturdy support of wargrade armour that he had sacrificed some of his speed for. “I’m stronger than I look. Strap him on and I’ll help you get him there faster.”


	55. Liar liar [Optimus/Ratchet]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Injury Prompt: Optimus insisting that he's fine and look he can walk and Ratchet just yelling at him“ i’m fine, i can walk, just give me a minute ”

His audials were damaged but Optimus didn’t let on; by know he knew Ratchet’s tirades by spark. He didn’t need to be able to hear his oldest remaining friend to know what he was saying. It made it that little bit easier to ignore the hands trying to push him back down as he levered himself up off the ground, desperate to see how the battle was going.

“I’m fine, I can walk.” Optimus insisted as the world spun dizzyingly around him. “Just give me a minute.”

The silence of his damaged audials hid what he would later realise would be the sound of transformation; at the time all Optimus knew was a stabbing pain in his side as Ratchet sedated him, then the world went black.


	56. Secrets [Shockwave/Blurr]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Injury Prompt: “ who did this to you? ” With Longarm/Blurr, Shockwave doing injuries of your choosing? 
> 
> Established relationship, rough sex, Spy VS Spy AU

His hip joints were displaced for the third time in a week but Blurr didn’t care. Nor did he care about the scratches and bruises, the scrapes in his enamel where he’d been pinned against the washrack wall or the microtears in his valve lining.

It was an ache he welcomed, a memory of pleasure shared.

The medics cared, however.

The longer their affair went on the more questions they asked, the more worried they became. They assumed he was being assaulted by a fellow Autobot. Every time they asked “Who did this to you?” he had to fight the urge to laugh.

If they knew he was fragging the processor out of a Decepticon double-agent it would be both their heads.

So Blurr would just waggle his optical ridges and say; “Some hot little piece from the clubs, and sweetspark you should _see_ what I did to him!” while they re-set his hip joints and repaired the worst gouges from Shockwave’s talons and asked him to leave it longer than a few days before he played rough again.

They both knew Blurr wouldn’t listen.

Next time couldn’t come soon enough.


	57. Accidental Narcotics [Drift/Percy/Ratchet]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Injury Prompt: Percy/Drift/Ratchet "it’s nothing, i’m totally fine ” with either Ratchet or Percy hurt
> 
>  
> 
> Lab accident, stoned Percy

[Ratchet you need to get here right now!]

The panicked comm from Drift had Ratchet grabbing the emergency kit and pinging the Lost Light’s systems for the speedster’s location before he got his wits together enough to form a reply.

[Who and where? Situation?]

He was out the door and heading for the express lift by the time Drift answered, glyphs jagged with fear.

[It’s Percy, in his lab. The extractor hood malfunctioned. I’ve cleared the fumes but Percy isn’t waking up.]

Ratchet swore and dropped into almode, tearing out of the lift and through the corridors with sirens screaming. There was an acrid tang lingering in the air when he burst into the laboratory, a stink of something that wasn’t dangerous or deadly at current levels.

Swearing low in his vocaliser he scanned the unconscious scientist and the mech kneeling beside him. When the scans showed no severe physical damage he dropped to his knees with a clang and a protest of abused joints, flipping open the armour panel concealing Perceptor’s diagnostic ports and plugging in.

“He’s fine.” Ratchet said. Drift released an explosive wave of stress-heated air from his vents. “He’s just… high.” The medic continued, frowning at thin air as diagnostics scrolled over his HUD. “So high he can’t move. His cortex shut off all motor control to protect his frame and Spark. Whatever that reaction was it created an _extremely_ powerful narcotic.”

“It’s nothing, I’m totally fine.” Perceptor said out of nowhere, startling both mechs.

“You’re using contractions, you’re _not_ fine.” Drift snapped, gathering the scientist into his arms as Ratchet unplugged.

“Take him to our hab; he’ll be less trouble there.” Ratchet advised. “I’ll come help. get him settled in then head back to Medbay for supplies.”

Apparently Perceptor still had enough presence of mind not to argue, because Ratchet was perfectly ready to clip him upside the helm if he argued the treatment plan.


	58. Punching Bag [Sunstreaker&Sideswipe]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Injury Prompt: Injured meme! "Who did this to you?" Lamborghini twins (Sides and sunny) owo
> 
> Hurt/Comfort, Bullying

Sunstreaker found his twin huddled in the last washrack stall, shivering under cold spray and scrubbing at his plating.

There were dents and fresh scrapes that looked like the result of training.

But they couldn’t be, not with the way Sideswipe had shut him out. Not with the tears streaming down his twin’s faceplates and the graffiti scrawled across beloved red armour.

Sunstreaker didn’t bother trying to read the words; they were already etched in his memory banks. Epithets and slurs they were the background noise of their existence. Ignoring the cold solvent he pulled Sideswipe into his arms, wrapping the red mech in safety and supporting him as he sobbed into Sunstreaker’s chestplates.

“Who did this to you?” Sunstreaker asked quietly. “Who was it this time?”


	59. Carry, not Kill [Deadlock/Ratchet]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Injury Prompt: [PLS NOT AN AU] "Who did this to you?" Or "Let me carry you" Deadlock/Ratchet
> 
> Ratchet gets left behind on the battlefield. Deadlock finds him.

He had been left behind by accident, forgotten in the confusion of the rout as he struggled with an unexpectedly complicated amputation.

_Remove compromised limb, reattach when limb repaired and patient stabilised._

Standard procedure.

Anything but standard when their supposedly safe bunker had been located and cracked while he was in the middle of the fragging procedure. He had lost his patient. The heavy gunner had bled out when the concussion of a massive warhead detonation rolled through the building, the accompanying electromagnetic pulse stunning everyone inside for precious seconds.

Ratchet had toppled over, gone unnoticed in the scramble to evacuate and taken several hits from enemy fire on his way out of the compromised hideout on top of that. He shunted the pain aside, slapped temporary bandages over the wounds and kept moving until the power surge and flux warnings on his HUD became horribly clear and he lost all sense of direction, slamming into a ruined wall and sliding to the floor as the universe started spinning around him.

 _Gyros are_ gone _. Optics going. Slag_.

He could hear pedesteps, someone was coming. Knowing it could only be a Decepticon, Ratchet pulled his laser pistol from subspace and tried to draw a bead on a grey-gold-white shape that came at him with optics glowing an unforgiving red.

The Decepticon dodged his shot and disarmed Ratchet with embarrassing ease, the ‘Cons EM Field felt familiar as he got right in close and pinched at several places on Ratchet’s neck in a precise sequence, temporarily immobilising the medic.

“What the _slag_ are you doing?” Ratchet demanded, finally finding his vocaliser as the Decepticon picked him up, grunting a little at how much he weighed.

“Getting you out of here.” The voice was familiar too; something about the vowels and the occasional dropped consonant making slow connections in Ratchet’s processors. “Your gyros are slagged, I know the signs.”

The temporary paralysis was wearing off and Ratchet began to struggle.

“Cut that out and let me carry you.” The Decepticon snarled, “Stubborn aft. I’m not going to kill you.”

Then it hit Ratchet. He knew that voice, knew it from years ago.

And somehow he believed Deadlock when the Decepticon said he wouldn’t kill him.


	60. Let Me Carry You [First Aid/Springer]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Injury Prompt: First Aid and Springer, "let me carry you" and SO MANY BONUS POINTS if First Aid shocks the everlovin' frag outta Springer by picking HIM up
> 
> Springer loses his legs (and I had far too much fun with this)

It wasn’t the first time Springer had suffered the indignity of having both legs so badly damaged he could neither walk nor transform. However this time was a first in that the only one around was the tiny medic who’d applied expert field-dressings and was now contemplating the problem of getting him off the front lines and to proper medical care.

Nobody around who was capable of hauling someone of Springer’s mass, not even a few of the mid-class Wreckers who could team up to drag his busted aft back to the medical tent. Not that the tiny medic -First Aid, that was the designation- seemed to notice or care about the problem. He locked an anaesthetic slug into a medical port low on Springer’s torso, tucked his tools back into subspace and turned an optimistic visor on Springer.

“Now to get you back to base.” The small mech said, advancing on the Wrecker with an arm outstretched. “We’ll have you back in no time.”

Springer reacted automatically and reached out to take the proffered hand. To his surprise First Aid switched direction, the comparatively tiny mech ducking under Springer’s arm and picked him up easily.  The Wrecker went stiff and almost jumped right out of the medic’s hold, making a sound that was NOT a squeak or a yelp or any such vocalisation. First Aid was kind enough not to laugh at him or point out the mortified expression on Springer’s faceplates. He was surely smiling behind that battlemask as he stepped out briskly, carrying the huge mech with minimal effort.

“Everyone reacts that way the first time.” The medic said conversationally. “You won’t fit in my altmode so just let me carry you out of here and I promise I won’t tell anyone you just squawked exactly like a hungry cyberkitten.”

“I’ll cyberkitten _you_.” Springer grumbled, the painkiller plugged into his system starting to make him loopy.  “ _Warn_ a mech, for Primus’ sake.”

This time First Aid did laugh. Quietly, but it had a nice sound to it so Springer spent the rest of his ‘ride’ cracking increasingly weird, painkiller-addled jokes just to hear it again.


End file.
